Life Is Life
by MyStateOfMind
Summary: Once upon a time there was a fanfic called Believe In Me. This is the revamped version. "Left his house at midnight, resolute and young, in search of something greater than the person he'd become." AU Smitchie.
1. Tonight Is The Kind Of Night

**Title:** _Life__ Is __Life_

**Summary:**_ _Once upon a time there was a fanfic called Believe In Me. This is the revamped version. "Left his house at midnight, resolute and young, in search of something greater than the person he'd become." AU Smitchie._ _

**Authors ****Note: **_First off: if you've clicked this link anticipating a new story from me, I'm so very sorry but that's not the case. I went to update You Make It Real (I know, after donkey's years of hiatus-ing) and couldn't do it. Because this was my writing when I was 16 and it's fine, but I'm 19 now and would like to think I've improved somewhat. So this is my plan: I'm going to revamp Believe In Me (now titled Life Is Life as you can see) before New Years. Then I'm going to rewrite (and write, seeing as it was never finished) You Make It Real, which will also be titled differently but I haven't thought that far ahead yet. And then I can put this project to rest feeling completely satisfied with it. It will have differences – fairly major ones, actually – and so if you read Believe In Me back in 2008 then I'm going to be selfish and recommend that you read this one too, because it'll be different and better. And for any new readers, don't go back and read it. Or do, but read this one as well and then come back here and reassure me that this one is much better._

**Disclaimer: **_Don't own.__  
><em>

**Music:** _Tonight __Is __The __Kind__ Of__ Night__ – __Noah__ and __the __Whale_

**Because tonight's the kind of night**

**Where everything can change**

Change is a funny thing. A lot of people hate it, as a rule. It can cause all kinds of problems and generally, the response to most changes will be something akin to "well, what's the point of that?" For example: the time slot of your favourite TV show has been moved? How are you supposed to remember that? You're _going_ to forget and you're _going_ to miss your favourite show and _why __did__ they __have __to __change __it? _What was the purpose? Basically, there wasn't one. The powers that be at HBO or Fox or the BBC decided that that was how it was to be and you have no say in that matter at all. Lovely.

A lot of the changes that people find themselves resisting are the ones that they have no control over, as is the case with the example above. And with that, we find the real root of the problem. People do not hate change. No. They hate not having control. If everyone who claimed to hate change really did hate change, then nothing would ever happen. Nobody would move out of their parents' house, nobody would go to university, nobody would get their hair cut, or go on holiday, or go and see what the cakes from the new bakery that's just opened across the street taste like.

Change _is _a funny thing. Moving out from your parents' house and going to university is daunting and having to do your own washing will most likely result in a few of the white t-shirts in your wardrobe being replaced by pink replicas. Having a haircut is weird because, when you run your fingers through it afterwards, there's that split second of shock when you find thin air where your split ends should be. Change _is _odd. But you can't hate funny things (and, no, Dane Cook doesn't count because funny is something he's not). You can hate things you have no control over.

And that was exactly what Mitchie Torres was doing that November night when she stood in front of the mirror waiting for her best friend Caitlin to come and pick her up. Hating something she had no control over: her skin.

Well, okay, maybe it was just one tiny aspect of her skin. The two blemishes she had just above her jawline on the left side of her face, to be entirely specific.

Mitchie Torres did not think that she was ugly, nor did she think she was stunningly beautiful. In her eyes she was perfectly average, a Plain Jane type. But she could not deny that she'd have been a lot more satisfied with her appearance were the two spots she'd woken up with that morning non-existent.

At least she'd been able to control the rest of her attire, and so she dragged her gaze away from the two flaws on her face to focus on how she looked in the outfit department. Black was the dominant colour, yes, but the orange on her top was bright enough to stop her from looking like she was going to a funeral. And she'd wear her orange Converse. Sorted. She had no idea what the plans that Caitlin had arranged were, but at least she felt like she wouldn't look too out of place wherever they ended up.

Subconsciously, her eyes travelled back up the mirror to find the spots again. God, they stood out like a sore thumb. Why did her skin hate her so much? The life of a teenager was difficult enough without throwing problematic pores into the equation. What was that about? What was the _point_?

She didn't have too long to ponder the vendetta that the universe had against teenagers, because then her name was being called from the storey below her: "Mitchie! Caitlin's here!"

It took a grand total of ten seconds to grab her cell phone and purse and to step into the unlaced shoes that were lying in the middle of the floor, fresh from the last time she'd worn them… whenever that had been. Then she was practically hurtling out of her room and down the stairs, shooting a grin at the girl who was standing at the bottom of them and hoping she wouldn't mention the spots.

"Well, aren't we colourful?"

Mitchie rolled her eyes; the sarcasm wasn't lost on her at all and as if to show it she retaliated with some of her own. "Hey to you too, Caitlin. I'm fine, thank you for asking. How are you?"

"I'm good," the other girl grinned, her curly hair bobbing up and down as she nodded, turning to address the older woman in the hallway next. "We'll be back for midnight, Mrs T."

Connie Torres was unperturbed by this announcement – Mitchie had, after all, never needed a strict curfew imposed upon her being of the good girl disposition – and so merely replied with a smile at both teenagers standing by the door. "Have fun girls."

"Bye then, Mo –" Mitchie had only just started to give a goodbye, the words only starting to form on her tongue, when Caitlin yanked open the door and pushed her out of it, her sentence cut off completely as the door slammed shut. "What is the hurry?"

If anything was going to prove that her best friend was acting oddly, it was her best friend denying that she was acting oddly, and so the combination of a shrug and an innocent expression was enough to make Mitchie suspicious. So, she did what anyone would do in the same situation; she bent down and started tying her shoelaces. Hey, if Caitlin was in such a rush to get to plans that she wasn't willing to spill the beans about then the only thing to do was to hold her up.

If the exasperated groan that the girl gave was more than enough to prove there was something up, then the comment made as Caitlin opened up her car door and slid into the drivers seat was practically hard-hitting evidence. "God, Mitchie. Can you tie your shoelaces any slower?"

"Possibly," Mitchie said, looking up at her and halting the process for a few seconds. "Want me to try?"

"No. Come on!"

It didn't take long to tie both laces, and Mitchie was standing and walking around to the passenger seat in no time at all. Well, she didn't think it was any time at all. For girl with the schedule it was apparently an age. "So, what are these amazing plans that you can't bear to miss one second of?"

"I said that I'd show you when we get there."

"And I said that that was a stupid idea."

"And I said that I don't care whether you think it's stupid." She started the car and reversed out of the driveway, glaring at Mitchie slightly, partly because of the conversation and partly because the other girl had just planted her feet firmly on the dashboard.

"And I said that that isn't the attitude to have, is it?"

"And I say that this whole re-living the conversation we had earlier today is stupid."

"And I agree." There was a slight pause in the conversation in which Caitlin wished Mitchie would take her feet off the dashboard of her beloved car, and Mitchie decided that she wasn't going to remove her feet until Caitlin said anything. And then Mitchie broke the silence: "But I still want to know where we're going."

A red light caused Caitlin to bring the car to a stop, and the driver took the opportunity to look over at the passenger, an eyebrow raised. "Mitchie. You'll find out when we get there." A few seconds later the red glow had moved down to green, and she started moving again. "And take your feet from off my car. Thank you."

Slowly, Mitchie put her feet back to where the majority of people have them while sitting in a car, and moved her head so that she was looking out of the window. It was a typical Saturday night in Cohasset, Massachusetts. School was over for the week and teenagers were out partying and having a good time. Apparently it was only Mitchie who was in the dark about her Saturday night plans.

She pressed the button to put down the window, letting some of the cool autumn air into the vehicle. She loved the fall. The leaves, the sudden change from hot summers to cold winters, the slightly confusing transition period between summer barbecues and Christmas parties. It was quite possibly a weird thought to have, but if Mitchie were a season she'd definitely be fall.

Summer was too vibrant, constantly so. Mitchie could be vibrant sometimes, when she was singing being the obvious example, but not all the time. Not like summers were.

And winters were too cold and lifeless, uncaring as to what anyone else thinks.

Spring was refreshing. People who were like spring were confident and bursting with new ideas and life.

Mitchie was autumn. Quiet. Thoughtful. Blending into the background, but at the same time always having more to say than people think.

Breaking her from her reverie about the characteristics of seasons, a snatch of conversation between two girls who were talking outside of the car caught her attention. "Can you believe it? I can't! This is like, the most exciting thing to happen in Cohasset since like... ever! Connect 3!"

Her head snapped to look at Caitlin, whose gaze was firmly on the road ahead. A little too firmly, really. Nobody needed to stare at a road that intently.

"You haven't…"

Caitlin glanced over at Mitchie, her nose wrinkled. "I haven't what?"

"Connect 3? In Cohasset? You with your oh-so-secretive plans for the one Saturday night they're here? Coincidence? I think not." Mitchie folded her arms across her chest with a sigh.

Once upon a time – and this must be recorded as having been a very long time ago; a good year and a half, at least – she was a huge Connect 3 fan. Mega. She had a wall of her room dedicated to posters of them, wrote their lyrics in the margins of her exercise books, listened to nothing but the sound of Shane Grey's voice, with Nate and Jason on guitar. But that had all changed and, unlike the flawlessness of her skin, that had been a change she had total control over.

Connect 3 had no idea that they were living the dream; a dream that so many young people would _kill_ to live out. Shane Grey, with his temper tantrums on video sets and photoshoots… Shane Grey didn't think to realise that there were people out there – people like Mitchie – who would do absolutely anything to be doing what he did. And he didn't even care. He didn't even care that he was lucky to have such a career, such a life.

Nowadays, Mitchie all but hated them.

Caitlin sighed and looked over at her friend, before flicking her eyes back to the road. "Mitchie…"

"Ugh," was the simple reply, and just to show her distaste further the dark-haired girl planted her feet right back up on the dashboard again.

"Come on, Mitchie. It was too good to pass up. Front row seats! Front row! My dad got them through work. And I knew that you wouldn't come if I told you straight out, so…"

Mitchie didn't answer, for her sixteen-year-old self had made an appearance in her mind and she was currently trying to drown out the 'front row, how amazing' thoughts with hateful ones.

"And I know that you have a slight soft spot for them still, because otherwise why would you have them on your iPod?" Caitlin was still going, possibly out of desperation to get her best friend to loosen up about this night. "Just imagine: those songs live. And Shane Grey jumping around the stage."

If he doesn't cancel the concert before they can even sing, Mitchie resisted the urge to add. That would be just like him, surely.

"Please? Please come inside with me? And we can jump around and squeal like crazy preteens again, and then come tomorrow we can forget that we ever went and pretend that we spent Saturday night in, watching The O.C reruns and eating chips." Caitlin's voice was edging on begging now and Mitchie knew it wouldn't be too long before she caved. She always caved.

They were getting closer to where the concert was going to be held, made obvious by the presence of more people suddenly milling around the car, most of them wearing t-shirts and holding banners that were decorated with 'will you marry me' in varying handwriting. It was pathetic.

"Mitchie?" Caitlin had come so far and wasn't going to let this stop her from going to the concert, but nor was she going to go without her best friend. Which meant one thing; Mitchie was going with her. It was as simple as that, really.

The passenger rolled her eyes and groaned, bringing her feet down from the dashboard with a thud as Caitlin pulled into a miraculously empty parking space (although, seeing as the majority of people at this event were probably not old enough to drive yet, perhaps miraculous wasn't the word). "Fine! Whatever."

Mitchie undid her seatbelt and flung open the car door, escaping the vehicle before she heard that victorious laugh that Caitlin relished in giving. Having managed that, she leaned up against the car and folded her arms again, trying to look as though this was the last place on Earth she wanted to be. It almost was.

"Thank you, Mitchie!" Caitlin cried as she got out of the car and shut the door behind her. Then she bounded around to stand next to her friend and pouted. "Come on, you can smile. I know you're a little more excited than you're letting on."

Mitchie hated it when she was right, really she did. Because it was kind of cool that Caitlin's dad had gotten them front row seats to one of the only concerts to come to Cohasset. Connect 3 never came to small towns like theirs, nobody did. So to have tickets – front row tickets – to something like this was cool. Even if it was a band she had sworn to hate. Why couldn't it have been a good band? Out of all the bands in all the world.

Rolling her eyes, she pushed her dark hair out of her eyes and then let the corners of her lips turn up slightly, not into a smile but into something that resembled a smile. If you squinted. "Okay. Fine. You want me to be a screaming fangirl?"

Caitlin looked at her friend, her eyebrows raised as though waiting for her to answer the question.

Mitchie sighed, stepping away from the car and moving a little bit closer to a group of people who were standing at the side of the street. Some of them were in Connect 3 t-shirts, but there were two guys engrossed in conversation wearing dark glasses. She didn't notice, but her movement seemed to attract the attention of one of them.

"Seriously, I will act as though I belong here if you want me to." Her voice was raised slightly, so as to carry over the conversations of those around them.

"That would be awesome." Caitlin grinned, knowing her friend all too well and thus knowing what she was about to do.

Shaking her hair out of her eyes, Mitchie put on an excited expression and hopped up and down a few times before squealing. "OH EM GEE, Caitlin! I cannot believe your dad got us front row tickets to Connect 3! Do you know how hot I think Shane Grey is? And they're here, in Cohasset! I think I'm hyperventilating!" After a few loud, quick breaths for good measure, Mitchie stopped deadpan. Caitlin was pretty much in hysterics. "Was that excited enough?"

"Oh, Mitchie. I love you, but you're totally insane." Caitlin laughed as she took the few steps to her friend and linked arms with her, resting her head on Mitchie's shoulder as they walked away from the car. "We're going. And we're having fun. And you're going to leave this concert feeling totally glad that you went."

Mitchie shook her head vehemently. "No, I won't."

"Hey, never say never. You might leave thinking Shane Grey is the hottest thing to walk the Earth." The other girl giggled as though her words were the stupidest words ever uttered.

In Mitchie's opinion they were.


	2. You Need Me, I Don't Need You

**Title:** _Life __Is __Life_

**Summary:**_ _Once upon a time there was a fanfic called Believe In Me. This is the revamped version. "Left his house at midnight, resolute and young, in search of something greater than the person he'd become." AU Smitchie._ _

**Disclaimer: **_Don't own._**  
><strong>

**Music:** _You__ Need __Me,__ I __Don__'__t__ Need__ You__ – __Ed__ Sheeran_

**I won't be a product of my genre**

**My mind will always be stronger than my songs are**

**Never believe the bullshit that fake guys feed to ya**

**Always read the stories that you hear in Wikipedia**

About a year ago, an article about Shane Grey was run in Rolling Stone magazine, and while it wasn't an uncomplimentary article at all, it was one that got him thrown into a box marked 'bad boy', sealing his reputation and fate completely. It reported, and on most counts nobody could argue, that he was trouble; storming off video shoots, acting up on photo session sets, flashing his cash and not caring what anyone thought of him in the process.

Nobody could argue most of those accusations because they were, for the most part, true.

He _was _storming off of video shoots, mainly because they were stupid ideas for videos and he didn't even like the song anyway, why were they releasing it, why had he recorded it in the first place?

He _was _acting up on photo session sets, partly because interviews were going on at the same time and they were asking about the music like it was his music when in all actuality it was anything but.

He _was_ flashing his cash, but that was just because the record company were giving it to him and spending it guaranteed that they weren't going to get it back if they suddenly decided to drop the band.

But he did care what people thought of him. He didn't show it, but Shane Grey's reputation got to him sometimes. There were occasions where he wished he still had proper friends as opposed to 'friends' in air quotes. He did experience a stab of guilt whenever he snapped at someone because they'd done something wrong. But the truth of the matter was, _he_ had been wronged. His entire career was wrong.

In the mind of the rest of the world, Shane Grey was a bad boy through and through, and nothing he could do would alter that in the slightest. In Shane Grey's mind, he was a bad boy, yes, but only because he had to be a bad boy.

His bad boy reputation was what sparked the idea of this tour; his record company, as well as his other two band mates (Shane knew it had Nate and Jason written all over it), had decided that in order to get him to remember what it was like when they were first starting out - when the very thought of him being a bad boy would have been laughable - they were going to go to the sort of places they'd started out in. They were going to embark on an 'Up Close and Personal tour', going to the small towns that nobody ever visited in order to feel closer to the fans.

It was all very lovely, Shane had sarcastically commented to a reporter who had asked him his thoughts on the subject. Afterwards, they were going to have a cuddle party and express their unwavering platonic love for one another. His manager hadn't been impressed.

They were halfway through said tour and, like all the nights before, Shane had no clue where he was.

"Where are we?" Shane asked, looking out of the window at the endless rows of replicated houses that the bus was passing.

He had grown up in a suburb like this and had always wanted to get out of the repetitiveness of it all. He had. He'd gotten to Los Angeles, New York, London, Tokyo. He'd seen amazing places, places that were always changing, places that were exciting and busy and that had things happening in them. Now, he was back in a place that looked exactly the same as the one he'd left behind, somewhere that was boring and monotonous and where nothing ever happened.

Nothing unless you count an 'Up Close and Personal tour', of course.

"Cohasset, Massachusetts." Nate didn't even look up whilst replying, but carried on updating the blog that he'd decided to write on tour. Their manager had loved that one. Getting closer to the fans? Wasn't Nate the saint? Why couldn't they all be like Nate?

Shane didn't even know what he was writing in it. There was nothing to write. _Hi guys, been to another one of your crappy towns, looked the same as the last one, sounded the same, reacted the same when we sung the same songs. Off to another tomorrow._ That was what he would write. Maybe that was why he hadn't done it.

The thought that Nate was maybe using the blog to complain about him crossed his mind, but he shook it away without dwelling on it for too long. Nate wouldn't complain about him on a blog, he didn't have to. He could just complain about him to his face.

"Cohasset, Massachusetts," Shane repeated in a softer tone, the people on the pavement blurring in front of his eyes. They were just more to add to the list of endless faces that he'd never see again. Why bother looking too hard at any of them? Why bother getting to know any of them? They didn't know him. They claimed to. They knew his favourite colour and could probably recite every single interview he'd ever been forced to give. Should he give them a quiz on the trivial things in his life, they'd ace it. But none of them knew him, so why should he want to know them?

The bus they had been travelling on for the past two weeks was slowing down outside the venue that Connect 3 would be gracing with their presence tonight, and the last member of the band bounded through to the open 'living area' space to announce the obvious: "We're here!"

Shane rolled his eyes, though this action went unnoticed by both of the others in the room.

Nate clicked a few things on his laptop and then closed the lid, standing up as the bus came to a complete halt. "Sound check. Then concert. Then we have a day off until we have to be in Greenwich, Connecticut."

He wasn't just voicing his thoughts, but was vocalising the schedule for the benefit of the band member who still hadn't turned away from the window. Shane wouldn't know. He never knew. He never listened.

"Okay, let's go!" Jason pushed back the door of the bus to jump down onto the ground below, with Nate following close behind. When Shane eventually tore his gaze away from the pavement, he was alone in the bus.

There was nothing new there.

* * *

><p>The sound check was complete, and Shane had been left to his own devices backstage. None of the stagehands had spoken to him or asked him if he wanted anything. He presumed they'd heard all about him and knew of his reputation. He presumed they were all keeping their distance, just like everyone else. Part of him preferred it that way. The other part...<p>

Sinking down into one of the couches in the dressing room that _obviously_ hadn't been home to many big names in the past, Shane closed his eyes.

When he was alone, like this, he could pretend that everything was exactly how he wanted it. He could pretend he was gearing up for a show tonight full of music he was proud of, pretend that the audience full of fans who liked him for who he was, he could pretend that he was happy. That was what he wanted. And that was what he was never going to have, not now he was in the box labelled ungrateful bastard.

He wasn't sure he was going to be able to change to be anyone else now anyway.

"We're going outside, dude."

Shane opened his eyes to find Nate standing over him, hands on his hips and a blank expression adorning his face.

Fully expecting him to protest, Nate was pleasantly surprised when Shane stood up without comment and gestured for him to lead the way. He grabbed their sunglasses from the table by the door and holding out Shane's pair, stepped out of the back stage door. Shane took the proffered sunglasses and followed.

The cold air hit Shane immediately, something which almost made him smile. He definitely missed the seasons when he was in California; the summer and winter that Los Angeles offered him were too obvious and in-your-face for his liking.

He preferred the way that the east coast took months to get from one to the other and back again. He liked spring and autumn, even if spring was too planned and perfect.

Shane liked fall the most. He liked the rawness, how unrehearsed it all was.

"Shane…" Nate started talking, the dark sunglasses masking his eyes, and Shane was snapped from his thoughts about seasons. The glasses meant that Shane couldn't tell whether he was looking at him or whether he was looking around at the small groups of people around them, checking to make sure their cover wasn't blown.

"Nate…" Shane mimicked his tone, almost regretting giving in so easily to this conversation. Conversations between them never went well, not these days. One of them would take something the wrong way – more often Shane than Nate, though the latter had his moments – and they'd end up feeling even further apart than they did before they started talking. The metaphorical distance between them was about the width of the Grand Canyon now. They'd started off shoulder to shoulder.

There was a silence then, and it was one that Shane wasn't going to fill. Nate had wanted this talk, Nate could talk. Shane had very little to say.

"Are you okay?" were the words that eventually plugged the pause, and they caused Shane to give a bark of laughter.

"Never better." He nodded. "Thanks for asking. What about you? You alright?"

Nate rolled his eyes – or at least, Shane imagined that behind the lenses of the glasses he did – as he leaned back against the wall. "You know that's not what I meant. This tour… you're still…"

"A jerk?" The other man offered. Everyone had dubbed him a jerk, there was no point in pretending he hadn't. The shrug that followed his words was an action intended to suggest that he didn't care about his label.

He was even lying to Nate. Nate who had been his best friend since he was a kid. If he was lying to _Nate_, who was he telling the truth to? Was there a truth anymore? How could he be sure that he wasn't just a jerk?

The shorter of the two shook his head, as though that thought weren't what was going through his mind, even though it was. "Shane, I'm as annoyed as you are. Not about this tour, because I love that we're seeing fans that might not get to see us otherwise. I like that these kids came from places where we grew up and we get to connect with them. But about the fact that we're being moulded into people that we aren't? Yeah, I'm annoyed at that."

And he was. All three members of Connect 3 were dissatisfied with how they were being marketed, how they were being treated, how they were being used. But two of the members were choosing to bide their time, hang out until the record label saw what they could do. The other member saw that as feeble.

"Nate. I've shown how I feel. You might think that talking things through will solve everything, but I don't. It won't. The company we're with won't change the formula to include some of our own stuff, why would they? They're selling heaps, they think they're onto a winner. And once we stop being the group that we are right now, we stop being their winners. Then we'll be dropped anyway, we'll be out quicker than you can _say _Connect 3. We need people to listen to _us_. We need people to listen to _us _so that when this record company get bored of us we don't end up with nothing to show for ourselves but years of misery."

"Shane, that isn't the point."

"Well, what is the point then? This is not the life I wanted. But we're not able to get out of it. And you and Jason might be the model band members, being able to pretend that everything is super fabulous, but I can't do that. And if showing my anger gets me labelled a jerk, then let that happen. I don't care."

A car pulled up in front of them and a girl flung open the door as though she were embroiled in a life or death situation, if death would be staying in the car for longer than thirty seconds.

"Fine. Fine. Just keep doing what you're doing. I'm sure you'll get what you want soon enough, because any more temper tantrums and we'll be out anyway." Nate didn't shout his words so as to not attract unwanted attention, but his tone gave away the fact that had they been somewhere more private his voice would have been raised. He was clearly angry, his voice shaking because of the emotion.

Shane didn't reply. In fact, he didn't react at all. He'd heard it all, but was giving no sign that he had.

"OH EM GEE, Caitlin! I cannot believe your dad got us front row tickets to Connect 3! Do you know how hot I think Shane Grey is? And they're here, in Cohasset! I think I'm hyperventilating!"

This elicited a reaction; a snort of laughter as he turned away so that most of his body was facing the wall of the building. He found that sarcasm, that tone of contempt, refreshing. Everybody he'd seen at concerts, for the previous two weeks and for the previous tours before that, had been obsessed with him, out of breath at the thought of sharing the same oxygen, wearing t-shirts with his face and name on and this girl was none of those things.

A sigh from Nate brought Shane back to the conversation at hand, and he slid his focus back to his band mate.

"What?"

"We need to go and get ready. Another town, another concert."

* * *

><p>Shaking his head as he left the dark stage, Shane pushed past everyone who was congratulating them for another great show, and back into the dressing room. They were wrong, anyway. The show went as all shows before it went. Rehearsed to a tee, all soul and individuality sucked out of it and, as always, Shane was sure every single person who'd paid for a ticket loved it. Perfect. Worth being congratulated about.<p>

And then he thought about that girl, the one who had made him laugh with her cynicism. Did she love it? Did she too feel as though it had been void of any personality, any passion? She had been there, she'd said as much. The front row even, though he hadn't looked out for her. For a moment he wished he had, just so that he could have seen her face as opposed to the back of her head.

It was just his luck, really. The one face he'd have quite liked to see, the face he'd have quite liked to remember, was the one he hadn't managed to. He'd seen the endless stream of clones, the grinning, hyperventilating, dreamy-eyed ones, but not the one who had the right idea about them.

He wasn't going to get the chance to now, either. Tomorrow they were going to be on their way to another town, and there was very little chance of there being a girl like her in the front row, but it was guaranteed there'd be a hundred archetypal fangirls in the audience. Even more perfect.

"Sha –" Nate began to say his band mate's name as he too walked into the dressing room, but Shane didn't even bother looking up this time. He didn't want a conversation. They would just end up tracing the same circles again, over and over. He couldn't deal with that tonight. Not right now.

Shane didn't even bother looking up this time. Instead he stood up and left the room, shouting over his shoulder as he went, leaving no room for discussion.

"I'm going out for a walk."


	3. Iris

**Title:** _Life __Is __Life_

**Summary:**_ _Once upon a time there was a fanfic called Believe In Me. This is the revamped version. "Left his house at midnight, resolute and young, in search of something greater than the person he'd become." AU Smitchie.__

**Disclaimer: **_Don't own.___  
><em>_

**Music:** _Iris__ – __Goo __Goo __Dolls_

**And I don't want the world to see me**

'**Cause I don't think that they'd understand**

"You will find that I deny these words if you ever tell anyone else I said them," Mitchie said, talking to her best friend through the open car door that she was poised and ready to shut at any moment. "But it wasn't totally terrible."

"That's aside from the fact that there was no soul or passion in the performance, yeah?" Caitlin grinned back from her position in the drivers seat.

Mitchie nodded, laughing lightly as she feigned confusion, which was a bit of an oxymoron because she couldn't nod at the question and be _completely_ confused by it. "I mentioned that?"

"Once. Or twice. Or all the way through the entire show. I wasn't counting, honestly." She spoke airily, waving a hand in fake nonchalance before she lowered her voice to a still-audible tone and muttered with a faux mutinous tone: "Thirty two."

Another laugh left Mitchie's lips, this one a proper uninhibited laugh. "I'll see you tomorrow, Cait."

"We're going to the mall, right?" Caitlin said, as Mitchie took a step away from the door so that she could be sure that slamming it wouldn't cause any of her clothes or limbs to get damaged.

The girl who was standing nodded, letting go of the door and watching it coast to join back up to the rest of the vehicle, which it did with a crunch. Her friend grinned at her as she started the car and then reversed from the driveway again, disappearing from view in a matter of seconds.

Although Mitchie wanted to wait outside for a while longer, just to feel the cool air on her skin - she had, after all, spent most of the night in a cramped hall with hundreds of girls clamouring to get the attention of some ungrateful popstar - she knew that the fact that she wasn't wearing a jacket would make it a very unpopular decision with her mother, and so she begrudgingly turned and let herself into her house.

Depositing her keys on the table that was located immediately inside the hallway, she was about to ascend the stairs when a voice halted her progress.

"How was your night?"

Mitchie's mother stood in the doorway to the kitchen, wiping her hands with a dishcloth as she spoke to her daughter, a smile on her face.

"Caitlin thought it would be _really__ special_ to go to a Connect 3 concert." The level of sarcasm hit the roof in the middle of Mitchie's sentence, but there was still a glint in her mother's eye that told her that the older woman didn't exactly believe her.

The words that fell from her lips next backed that hypothesis up perfectly, her mom was definitely mocking her. "She should've said something, I'm sure I still have a few of your posters somewhere that you could have taken along as a banner. We didn't throw them all out, did we?"

"Yes," was Mitchie's reply, along with a roll of her eyes. "I'm going to bed."

If Connie Torres didn't believe her daughter – it was, after all, not yet midnight on a Saturday night – then she didn't question it at all; she merely put down the dishcloth in her hands and walked through to the doorway to the living room. "Say goodnight to your dad first though, he hasn't seen you all night."

"I'll make it up to him tomorrow!" Her daughter promised, leaning over the wooden banister as her father got up off of his chair in the living room to come and say goodnight in person. "He can come shopping with Cait and I if he wants."

"As long as you make sure you tell me if I look fat in the clothes I try on," Michael Torres joked, pulling Mitchie in for a hug – albeit a very uncomfortable one what with the banister getting in the way of her stomach and digging in rather a lot.

"Duh, what else are daughters for?"

"Not for helping around the house in any way, shape or form." Connie was quick to quip, the smile on her face showing that she was joking… for now at least.

Pulling a face, Mitchie disentangled herself from her father's bear hug - and from the wooden stair-rail - and gestured up the stairs with her thumb. "And… that is my cue to disappear." She smiled at both of her parents before starting her ascent, only pausing to call another "Night!" over her shoulder. Receiving two 'goodnights' in reply, she hastened her steps and was at the top and inside her room in a moment.

The door was shut in an instant and as she collapsed onto her bed she noted that everything was just as she'd left it, nothing exciting happening in the time that she'd been out and about. Not that anything exciting happened while she wasn't out and about either. She lived a perfectly normal life, both literally within the four walls of her bedroom and within the metaphoric four walls that made up her world. Nothing exciting happened to Mitchie Torres, and she had to confess, one of these days she'd love to be more than just a spectator.

Glancing at the clock that sat on her bedside table, Mitchie watched as the numbers changed slowly from 11:23 to 11:24 and then sighed. Was this seriously what she had succumbed to? Going to a concert of a band she didn't even like and then lying on her bed and watching the numbers on the clock change? It just wasn't right.

She got up and walked over to her window, looked out and then pushed it open. If she was going to spend yet another Saturday night doing nothing in particular, then she was going to do it her way. And her way was the way of the roof.

* * *

><p>Shane had been walking around for the better part of an hour, hands in his pockets and gaze trained to the floor as he treaded the streets that seemed so familiar.<p>

This wasn't the town he'd grown up in, but it was a pretty good replica, whether it was supposed to be or not. People behind the doors in these houses were living the same old suburban lifestyle that he'd abandoned, and it wasn't even the first time that he'd felt this yearning to be back in their situation. The saying was that hindsight was a beautiful thing. It wasn't beautiful. It was annoying.

The tour had been planned in the hope that he'd stop acting up having been given a taster of what his life used to be like. In reality, he'd just been slapped in the face with what he would never be able to have again.

He wanted – and he was well aware of what a weird thought it was as he was thinking it, but was choosing to ignore it – he wanted a life like that girl he'd seen before the concert. With the normality and the going to concerts (albeit better ones) with friends on Saturday nights and the ability to be a little bit sarcastic without being told that he needed an attitude adjustment.

He wanted to go home.

* * *

><p>Mitchie was sitting on her roof, iPod headphones in her ear. She loved her roof. It was the only place she ever really sung aloud, matching the notes of Aretha as the lights in the town flickered out and plunged her into darkness.<p>

All that Mitchie Torres had ever really wanted to do was sing. She wrote music and she played guitar and in her dreams she was a world famous singer-songwriter, performing to people every night. But dreams were very different from real life, and in real life she was resigned to using her roof as a stage and the blades of grass in the front garden as her audience. Not exactly the Connect 3 standard.

Tonight she wasn't singing loudly on account of her parents, who were both in bed, but she was singing nonetheless. A song by the Goo Goo Dolls, the soft nature of which was perfect for singing quietly along to. Still, because the night was so silent, her voice carried across the garden into the street below. Because the night was so silent, her voice carried across the garden into the street below and, as it did, she noticed a movement behind one of the trees that sat to the left of her driveway.

Leaning forward slightly to see what it was, her mind began racing through ideas. A cat? A bird? Maybe a bird. More sinister options popped into her mind, of course, but what could anyone who was hiding in the bushes do to her? Here she was, sitting on her roof, way above whoever it was down there. It'd take them some time to climb up the drainpipe and Mitchie would be back in her room with the window locked and 911 dialled well within that time.

"Is someone there?" She called out after a few seconds, deciding that she might as well just find out the obvious way. If it were a cat or a bird or a mouse then she'd get no reply, if it were an innocent bystander then they'd show themselves, and if it were a creep then there'd probably be some weird panting noises. "Hello? Seriously, hiding in trees at midnight isn't cool."

It seemed like she sat anticipating a reply for the longest time, but she was just concluding that it must have been one of the aforementioned animals when a voice floated back up to her. "Oh, and sitting singing to yourself on the roof is?"

Mitchie's first thought was that there was something familiar about the voice. She knew it from somewhere, but then she did live in a small town and she did go to the local high school. She knew a lot of people's voices; it could be one of many people.

Her second thought was regarding how rude this mystery man was being. It was a little rude, lurking in bushes and telling people that _their_ extracurricular activities were uncool. It was more than a little rude, even, it was quite a bit rude.

"I never claimed it was," she retorted, a little harsher than she perhaps would have been were she talking face-to-face to someone.

A silence followed her remark and Mitchie was just hoping that he'd maybe gone when he piped up again: "That's very true."

The girl on the roof didn't really know what to say to this, and so didn't say anything. She wasn't entirely sure that she hadn't just fallen asleep and was dreaming this whole scenario.

Was she really having a conversation with someone down at the bottom of the driveway? Did that sort of thing happen in real life?

Reaching up, she pinched the top of her arm. Nope. Definitely not dreaming.

* * *

><p>Shane had no idea what he was doing. He'd been walking down a street, had heard something that he thought sounded like singing and was now hiding behind a tree talking to a girl on a roof.<p>

But the weirdest part of this situation, as far as he was concerned anyway, was that he didn't really want to walk away – and not just because there was a chance she'd see him making an escape. He wanted to talk to her, wanted to talk to someone who didn't know who he was and wasn't talking to him like he was _the_ Shane Grey or like he was a time bomb waiting to go off.

She'd gone quiet, and now it was his turn to think of something to say, though his mind was completely blank as for any conversation starters. Usually he would just talk about who he was, or wait for someone else to talk about who he was, and the conversation would spurn from there. In a situation where he didn't want his identity to be revealed, the only thing for it was to go down the potentially awful route: say the first thing that came into his head. So he did. "You have a good voice."

Well, that wasn't bad. That wasn't bad at all. He was complimentary, even.

He couldn't see her, couldn't see her actions, but somehow he knew that he was going to get some kind of a protest before she'd even spoken.

"I have an okay voice. Nothing special."

"Well, from what I heard… it sounded pretty special."

She laughed lightly, the amused tone remaining in her voice as she continued. "Yeah, well, with all due respect you're hiding in a tree. You don't exactly scream trustworthy."

Shane grimaced, craning his neck to try and get a glimpse of this girl through the branches of the tree he was stood behind. "That's also very true."

Their track record of conversation wasn't going well, because the awkward silence was back.

In all honesty, Shane was surprised that this girl hadn't asked the obvious question yet. He was glad she hadn't, glad he hadn't had to confess to her who he was, but he was surprised. It would have been the first thing he asked, being the suspicious, untrusting person that he was. Surely it was going through her mind. Surely she was wonderi –

"So, why do I think that I've heard your voice before?"

Ah. So she was.

He had to think about his answer, taking his time to mull over how to phrase it, what exactly he'd be admitting to. For some reason, he didn't want to lie. He lied enough to people he knew, if he started lying to strangers then he'd never be telling anyone the truth.

"Because you probably have," was the reply he eventually settled on. It was still cryptic; it didn't remove any of the questions she had and so she'd just have to ask some more.

Her reply was almost instantaneous. "Do you know me?"

"No. I don't think so, anyway."

"Do you live in Cohasset?"

"No."

His denial was followed by a laugh, not a loud one, but something that panicked Shane more than it should have. Why did it matter if she worked out who he was? Even if she leaked the story, it wouldn't be any less than people expected. Shane Grey stood at the bottom of my driveway at midnight and we had a conversation. It wasn't exactly breaking news.

"What?" He couldn't help himself, though. It didn't matter if he was found out, he knew it didn't, but he didn't want to be found out. So he settled for sounding paranoid. "What are you laughing at?"

"Your amazingly detailed answers."

"Maybe I don't want you to know who I am," he snapped, regretting his harsh tone almost as soon as he'd used it. Now she, whoever she was, definitely wouldn't want to talk to him.

When she spoke – and it took a few seconds longer than her previous replies had – his thoughts were confirmed. She didn't sound like she wanted this conversation to go on much longer. "Well, fine. But I think a part of you does want me to know. Because why else would you be talking to me?"

The inability to stop himself was back; he couldn't stop the words from leaving his lips. He'd grown so accustomed to saying what he was thinking when he was thinking it that censorship seemed stupid even in situations where it shouldn't feel stupid at all. "I was just asking myself the same question."

Again, she didn't reply, and he shouldn't have expected her to. All those years as a bad boy figure meant that censoring himself was something he used to do, not something that he was still up to speed on. The same went for apologies. Shane Grey didn't make apologies, but something was telling him he was going to have to if he wanted to speak to her further.

"I come from a place very like here. But not… actually here," he offered, hoping that it would qualify for an apology of the unspoken kind. Hopefully she could read between the lines on this one, know that he didn't mean to be a complete jerk.

* * *

><p>When he spoke again, Mitchie felt a smile spread across her face and she pressed the pause button on her iPod before she thought about his words. Taking her time to reply served him right, really, and she refused to feel at all guilty about it.<p>

"Oh. Okay. So I don't know you from school." She leant back on her hands, her palms pressing against the slate of the roof. "How old are you, Mr Mysterious?"

"Nineteen," came the answer. "Almost twenty. Not that I act it most of the time."

Mitchie couldn't think of any nineteen-year-olds who would be skulking around in trees on a Saturday night, but he'd pretty much confessed that he wasn't from around here. Even then, though, she couldn't imagine that many nineteen-year-olds in the _world _would skulk around in trees on a Saturday night. What was this one doing?

Continuing this twenty-questions scenario felt a little pointless with the knowledge that she probably wouldn't be guessing the answer any time soon, but she too didn't want to end this… whatever this was. She liked it, liked the mystery, liked that it was out of the ordinary. Hadn't she just been wishing for something out of the ordinary to happen?

"Don't you have anything better to do on a Saturday night, Mr I-Don't-Act-Twenty?"

"As it happens... no. There's stuff I could be doing, but it's debatable whether it's better."

"That's kinda hard to believe."

"Depends on how you look at things."

Sighing, Mitchie racked her brain for more things to say. This guy wasn't making it easy for her, though she really didn't know why she thought he should. They were two strangers, standing at a distance as well as on different levels, attempting to conduct a conversation with very little to work with. It was a wonder it had gone on as long as it had.

"So you were just walking down the street and heard me singing so decided to stop for conversation?"

The guy at the bottom of her driveway gave a short laugh. "Something like that. I didn't mean to end up here. I was walking, trying to clear my head after an interesting night… and there you were."

"What was so interesting about your night?"

"I was… at a concert."

To say that Mitchie was surprised would have been an understatement. She had lived in Cohasset her whole life, and she knew that there had only been one concert in town that evening. There had only been one concert in town all year, not counting that Spice Girls tribute band that a girl in her year below had organised for charity. This guy, this nineteen-year-old guy, had been to see Connect 3 this evening.

"Me too." She didn't know why she volunteered that information so readily, but once the words had been spoken there was no taking them back.

His pause was palpable; initially she wasn't entirely sure he was going to reply. "Really?"

"Uh-huh."

This beat was even longer than the one previous to it. "What did you think?"

"Honestly?"

"Yeah."

"Void of passion and soul." Mitchie spoke without thinking, her words almost exactly the phrase she'd used when talking to Caitlin earlier, meaning each one of them whole-heartedly.

"Oh."

She got the horrible feeling that she'd said something wrong in admitting as much, but before she could even begin to work out why that was, his voice was reaching her again.

"Me too."

It's an odd feeling, when things all click into place in your mind. Like the final piece of a jigsaw has been slotted into place and you can't even believe that it didn't all make sense before.

That switch had been flicked in Mitchie's mind with those two words; the reason why this man's voice was familiar to her, the reason he'd been at a Connect 3 concert, the reason he was so reluctant to answer questions in any real detail, the reason for everything flooded into her brain.

How could she have been so dense? Of course she knew the voice. She had heard it just two hours before. She had listened to it countless times. The only difference was that most of the times she'd heard it, he'd been singing, not talking.

"You're kidding me."

But the person she had been talking to for the past quarter of an hour did not seem to want to answer whether or not he was joking, therefore just confirming her suspicions even further. There was no way it could be true though, could it? This - stuff like this - did not happen to her. She was a normal girl in a normal, if slightly more boring than normal, town and this sort of not normal stuff did not happen to her, no matter how much she wished that it did.

"Come out from behind the tree," she said, leaning forwards without a consideration to the fact that she was at a height, a soft urging in her voice.

There was a rustling from the tree in which her correspondent had been hiding, but there seemed to be no real movement as far as him moving into the light was concerned.

This was not happening.

"Shane… I think your name is Shane. Am I right?"

That seemed to do the trick that her other comments hadn't quite managed, because the rustling got louder for just a moment. And then Shane Grey stepped out from behind the tree at the bottom of Mitchie Torres' front garden and into an area where the streetlight caught him.

Mitchie gasped, not even thinking about her precarious position on the roof, not thinking about how completely stupid she must have looked, not thinking about anything but the fact that Shane Grey was standing on her driveway. "Oh. My. Go –"

And then she fell off the roof.


	4. King Of Anything

**Title:** _Life Is Life_

**Summary: **_Once upon a time there was a fanfic called Believe In Me. This is the revamped version.__ "Left his house at midnight, resolute and young, in search of something greater than the person he'd become." __AU Smitchie._

**Authors Note:** _At this rate I'll have everything finished by Christmas. I realise that Camp Rock isn't the most popular category these days on account of the movies having finished and the stars having moved on to other things, and I also realise that this is basically a story you all know already, but I got nearly 100 hits yesterday and one (lovely, I'm not complaining) review. There's going to be some fairly major changes, I can guarantee that. So please, if you think anything about this story, press that review button, yeah? And I'm sorry for all the emails, it kept screwing up my formatting!  
><em>

**Disclaimer: **_Don't own._

**Music:** _King of Anything – Sara Bareilles_

**You've got opinions, man**

**We're all entitled to 'em**

**But I never asked**

**So let me thank you for time**

**And try to not waste any more of mine**

**Get out of here fast**

Shane could see what was going to happen before it did, not because he had been hiding a psychic power for his entire life but because it was just so damn obvious. The only part that he wouldn't have found obvious – had someone explained this exact scenario to him and asked him, hypothetically, what he'd do – was his reaction.

His answer to the hypothetical situation would have been that he'd do nothing. This girl was on the roof, she knew the dangers, and therefore she had to deal with it if she fell off because she was so shocked at something as mundane (well, mundane where Shane was concerned) as the appearance of a celebrity at the bottom of her driveway. The words 'served her right' would have been used in his reply at some point, followed by an uncaring shrug.

His answer to the actual, real life, happening-in-front-of-his-eyes situation was completely different. The girl that he'd been conversing with was falling off of her roof and for some inexplicable reason, Shane felt like he had to save her.

One second he was running to try and catch her, the next second he was collapsed on the lawn underneath her, considerably more bruised than he had been the moment before. Well, he thought, as she groaned and moved off him quickly, that would teach him for trying to help someone.

"Ugh." She groaned again, sitting up slowly and beginning to inspect her body for any damage that might need medical attention. Shane presumed she found nothing too serious – his presumption based upon the fact that he wasn't being told to call an ambulance for a broken spine or something similar – and mimicked her sitting action so that they were both upright on the lawn.

"Well, that was lame. I'm sorry. I could say that that's the first time that's ever happened to me, because it is, but that probably won't make this any better. Are you okay? I'm so sorry."

She continued to apologise, the guilty expression on her face removing most of Shane's indignation about the position he had found himself in. People were always apologising to him, so much so that he was generally annoyed by every utterance of the word 'sorry', but there was something about these circumstances that made it more amusing than frustrating. Maybe he was amused at himself for thinking he could've caught this girl, or maybe he was just having a moment of weakness. Still, he didn't want the apologies to go on for too much longer and so he did the only thing he could think of; he smiled at her, and was pleased to see her opt to smile hesitantly back.

Except then, seconds after the smile, the girl's eyes grew wide and the smile on Shane's face faded. Oh no. Here it was.

He had been witness to many an occasion where that exact expression appeared on the face of a girl and it always ended in the same way. The all-familiar 'oh-my-god-you're-Shane-Grey' scream would pierce the air and this conversation would end in the exact way he'd wanted to avoid it ending. She was going to freak, declare her love for him, possibly even propose, and he was going to have to make a break for it. That was how this scene always ended.

"Oh my God!" She hissed, jumping to her feet in one swift movement, a feat that Shane would have been impressed by had he not been wincing at the imminent screech.

"Please don't scream my name," he said, taking advantage of the hesitation to appeal to her, though he was fairly certain it wouldn't matter. She didn't even look like she'd heard him. So, he closed his eyes, holding his breath while he waited for the inevitable.

"Oh my God!" She repeated, turning around to face her house and ignoring the famous person sitting on the front lawn opposite her entirely. "I'm… I'm… I am totally locked out!"

Beat.

Shane opened one eye. Then the other. Then he wrinkled his nose.

"Wait, what?"

Needless to say, that had not been what he was expecting at all. Nobody - nobody that he could remember anyway - had ever been concerned about anything but him when they met him. He was in this girl's garden at gone midnight, having just been crushed by her because of his pathetic attempt to try and catch her, and she hadn't even batted an eyelid at who he was? It was preposterous. It was unheard of!

The only way he could possibly justify it in his mind was that she was attempting to play it cool in front of him, and in all frankness he'd much rather she didn't. He may have been dreading the familiar undying love exchange, but this was unnerving.

"My parents are asleep! It's almost one in the morning! My keys are in the house; I put them on the table in the hall. Oh, shit! The only way back in that I have is through my bedroom window and the only way I'm getting up there is with a ladder, which I clearly don't have on me. _Shit. _This is not good, this is… really not good."

Shane did not know what to say. This girl was good at playing it cool, damn good. He was almost forced to concede that she genuinely didn't care who he was, but decided to question it just a little more to be completely sure.

Standing up, he held his hands out in the universal 'hold up just a minute' motion as he spoke. "You're worried about being locked out?"

An expression of incredulity washed over the face of the girl he was looking at and she nodded as though she were speaking to a child of five years old. "Yes. It's one in the morning. That is my house. My keys are inside. My mom and dad are asleep. Don't you think it makes sense to be worried about being locked out?"

Her words were enunciated and patronising and Shane suddenly felt very stupid – not that he was going to let this girl know that. He didn't let anyone know when he was feeling stupid, let alone strangers.

The words that he allowed to leave his lips next though did not help in his endeavour to appear less ignorant and accompanied with the grand gesture he made as he spoke (in which he pointed to himself as though she may not have yet seen him) it would have been fair to say that he looked a prize idiot.

"But… I'm Shane Grey."

Now: a word on Mitchie's take on the matter.

Of course, the fact that she had just fallen off of her roof in front of a celebrity was not lost on her. Not only that, but she'd fallen off of her roof and fallen onto him, leaving them both spread-eagled on her front lawn. Mitchie definitely felt like a loser, but Mitchie felt like a loser quite a lot of the time - and so while the situation was highly embarrassing it was not as vital as working out how she was going to get back into her house. This did quite a good job at explaining why she _seemed_ less than bothered about Shane Grey being in her garden and very bothered about not having her keys; she _was _less than bothered about Shane Grey being in her garden and very bothered about not having her keys.

Still, even the crisis of being locked out of her house paled in comparison to such egotistical behaviour and for a fraction of a second Mitchie believed that he was joking. Hence her initial comment: "Are you kidding me?"

"I think we've established that I'm not."

It was difficult for even Mitchie, ex-fan of Connect 3 who had denounced her love for the band because of the actions of the guy standing in front of her, to believe that anyone could be quite this narcissistic. But here the proof was, his expression one of confusion as he stood in the suburbs of Cohasset, Massachusetts being given a big fat reality check; the world did not revolve around him.

"Well, _Shane Grey_, I actually think that being locked out of my house at midnight is a little more important than you stopping by. But you're free to think otherwise, we're all entitled to our own opinion."

She didn't even wait for a reaction before she turned around and glared back up at the house as though willing the structure to recognise who she was and open its' doors for her.

When it became apparent that that wasn't going to happen – well, it had been the mother of all long shots – Mitchie heaved a sigh and, as if she couldn't embarrass herself further, began talking to herself. "My mom is going to go crazy. Michaela Marie Torres, why were you sitting on the roof, don't you know what could have happened?"

Shane Grey was obviously more stupid than she'd ever anticipated, because even though she'd verbally dressed him down only seconds before, he piped up once again. "Yeah. Surely a girl who's that worried about being locked out should know better than to sit on the roof. Anything could have happened."

"Nothing would have happened if you hadn't come along and started hiding behind trees, pop star." Mitchie didn't even turn around to face Shane as she spoke, the scorn in her voice meaning that he didn't even need to see her face to work out how her words were to be taken. "And speaking of which, what was all that about? Hiding in trees and talking to strangers?"

And then, as a new thought occurred to her, she spun around to look at him, eyes wide. "Was it coincidental that you happened to find the house of someone who was at your concert? Or were you _stalking_ me? That seems like it's the wrong way around, really; aren't I supposed to be the one stalking you? Not that I would, I don't even…" Recognising that she was probably digging herself into a hole now, Mitchie trailed off, her gaze still resting on the face of the singer.

Shane had scoffed loudly as soon as the stalking accusation had left her lips and almost as soon as he was given the opportunity to interject he took it to protest fiercely. "I wasn't stalking you. God. I was just walking and I happened to hear you and then you called out and you know the rest." Giving a short laugh, he shook his head in disbelief. "Stalking you. Please."

There was a pause of only a few seconds before Shane took a turn to throw another thought into the conversation. "And it's rock star."

This comment made Mitchie laugh, a real full-of-humour laugh, though she wasn't sure it was meant to.

"Whatever, pop star."

Although he'd made himself look stupid, Shane _wasn't_ stupid. He knew full well that she wasn't going to be getting into her house unless she woke her parents up, and he knew that if she got inside her house then there was no way that they were going to speak any more. And for some reason – whether it was the fact that she'd stood up to him, or the fact that she'd been honest, or just the fact that she was a pretty girl and he was Shane Grey – he wanted to speak to her some more. He just needed an idea, a way to give them more time to have more conversation.

"Want to go for a walk?"

It was his ego talking, but he couldn't imagine her turning him down, even though she'd been less than impressed with him so far. Even the people that didn't like him wanted to spend time in his presence, he'd learned that over the years, and Shane refused to believe that this girl – Michaela – would feel any differently.

That was why, even when she narrowed her eyes at him and uttered a "why?" that was loaded with suspicion, he didn't even falter.

"Because you're not getting into your house any time soon, you probably have a lot of questions about me and you might end up having more fun than you'd admit."

He watched with confidence as her eyes flickered back to the front door of her house and then slid back to meet his own.

"So what do you say?" he asked, his five words stamping out all hesitation in her mind.

"Okay. Sure."

* * *

><p>Mitchie was intrigued; that was her only excuse. She was curious about Shane Grey, and despite the fact that she'd decided a long time ago that she disliked him she couldn't resist the opportunity to quench that curiosity. That was why she'd agreed to go for a walk, that was why she'd agreed to ignore the voice of reason in her head that was telling her to wake her parents and get back into the sanctuary of her house, away from pop stars who may or may not also be stalkers.<p>

But she had to admit that so far Shane was disappointing her. Okay, so they'd only been walking for about a minute, but he hadn't said a thing, and she certainly didn't want to end up walking around Cohasset in silence. She might as well have gone in to bed.

Just as she was racking her brain to think of something to break the silence with, Shane inhaled sharply and then his voice cut through the tension.

"So…" he began, stealing an awkward glance in her direction. He hadn't really thought this thing through, if he was honest with himself, but he'd made his bed and now he had to lie in it. Even though that idiom made no sense to him at all. If he'd made his bed, why was he going to lie in… unnecessary tangent. "Are we going to say anything?"

Mitchie laughed lightly, shrugging her shoulders. "I don't know. Are we?"

"I'd like to…"

The silence crept back upon them and this time Mitchie felt compelled to forge forwards with a topic that stuck: "How about we play twenty questions?

"Do the ones you already asked me count?"

"Nope. We'll start anew. Twenty questions each."

"Is passing allowed?"

"No," was her instantaneous answer, but at the look on Shane's face she revised it somewhat, rolling her eyes as she did so. "Fine. What about… It's a game. You can only pass if you have a very good reason and if the other person answers the next question without passing… they win. And you lose."

Shane nodded, a steely glint in his eye as though this were a challenge of the mind, body and soul that he had to conquer. "Okay. But I get to go first."

There seemed very little point in protesting as far as Mitchie was concerned. She had, after all, been the one asking all the questions earlier on in their conversation, even if she was at the disadvantage of not being able to target the questions to who he was on account of the fact that she didn't know who he was. Then again, he was at a disadvantage now; all the trivial stuff about him was practically common knowledge, but he wouldn't know a single thing about her. She didn't have her own fan site.

He had obviously been thinking the same thing, because his first question went a little something like this: "Back to basics. How old are you, Michaela Marie Torres?"

This unnerved Mitchie more than a little bit; her eyes widened and then narrowed in quick succession and she tilted her head to one side as she turned her body so that it was facing him a little more. "How do you know my name?"

A cocky smile appeared on Shane's face, and with a tone to match he replied. "Didn't anyone ever tell you not to answer a question with a question?"

"Didn't anyone ever tell you not to hide in trees at midnight?"

"Didn't anyone ever tell you not to sit on your roof without your keys at hand?"

"Nope. Nobody ever told me not to do that. Seriously though, my name? How do you know it?"

"You said it back there," Shane revealed, not reluctantly. "When you were talking to yourself about keys and your mom going crazy."

Mitchie's face coloured slightly – at the time she hadn't felt embarrassed by it at all, but when he spoke about it like that the notion of talking to herself did seem odd. "Oh. Right." Well, she wasn't going to allow them to dwell on that thought for long, and so after clearing her throat to dispense of any lingering awkwardness she went on with the question. "I'm eighteen. Born on the 5th of November 1993."

After she'd answered the question at hand, her thoughts turned to the question that she was going to ask. There were the obvious ones, of course, but they all felt rather rude and confrontational even in her head, so aloud they'd probably be even worse. She couldn't ask him them; even if he had proven himself to be a bit of a jerk, Mitchie didn't have to be a jerk back.

As a result, she went with the first non-offensive question she could think of.

"What were you doing walking around Cohasset?"

It was a lame question, she was well aware of that fact, but the scoff that Shane gave as the question rolled from her tongue annoyed her more than a little bit. Like his had been imaginative or hard-hitting.

"That's your question?" he asked, the derision dripping from his tone.

"Well, aside from the variants of 'why are you such a douchebag', yes," she snapped.

Such a remark was not new to Shane; in fact it was the sort of thing Nate said to him on an almost daily basis. It was the circumstances in which it was being said that halted him in his tracks. It was the fact that he was so used to people worshipping at his feet, so used to people telling him how great it was, and here was this _girl_ whom he had _never_ met before completely contradicting that. Was this how people _really _saw him? Was this how normal, _sane_ people who didn't want to marry and have his children saw him?

He opened his mouth to say something, what he hadn't really decided yet, but Mitchie had continued, speaking with ire in her voice.

"I felt guilty, you know, when I found out that it was you because I'd said that your show was void of passion and soul. But I can see exactly why it was void of passion and soul now. Look at you! You're exactly what HotTunes says you are; you're arrogant and self-obsessed and angry and bordering on cruel sometimes, throwing tantrums like a two-year-old when someone doesn't straighten your hair perfectly or they catch you in a bad light when they're taking your picture. How can you have everything – everything that I, and a million other people all over the world, can only _dream _of having – and still be like you are? I didn't even want to go to your concert tonight, you know. I didn't even want to go, my friend got us tickets and I always cave when she begs, but I went into that hall open to the possibility that maybe you weren't like they said you were. But you are. You _are _and I can't believe that someone hasn't said this to you sooner. I'm a person, Shane. And funnily enough, I was taught not to treat people the way that you're treating most people around you."

People were scared of Shane. Intimidated. Nobody wanted to be that forthcoming with him because his reputation pegged him as a guy with a fierce temper, not much of a conscience and not a care regarding what people thought of him. Nate had tried to serve him a reality check or two, but his anger tended to get the better of him before he could say anything of real impact. Magazines and TV channels had said their fair share too, but that was like water off a duck's back.

These words, from a girl who only knew vague hearsay and what she'd been presented with tonight, were different. These words were like bullets. Here was a girl who had no real impact on the world. Not many people would be influenced by what she said, which meant that out of everyone she was the most likely to tell it like she saw it. And boy was she telling it like she saw it.

As Mitchie reached the end of her tirade, she too was feeling something akin to shock and for similar reasons. Shane couldn't believe anyone had the courage to say that to him, Mitchie couldn't believe _she'd _had the courage to say that to him. Guilt wracked through her, she had probably gone too far with her rant, but she remained stone-faced. She may have stepped over the line, but he needed to hear it. Now he had.

It was clear to the both of them that the only person who was going to break the silence would be Shane, but he hadn't a clue how to go about it. What was he to say in reply to that brutal honesty? Yes, an apology would have been ideal but, again, apologies were not Shane Grey's forte. "I… I do not yell at people for not straightening my hair perfectly."

She had to admit, she was inclined to breathe a sigh of relief at such a typical Shane Grey response. At least he hadn't completely flipped out. There was something new in his eyes though, a flicker of an unidentified emotion that hadn't been there before. Hurt, maybe? Anger? Could the bomb still go off at any moment?

"Whatever," she shrugged, starting to walk once again. "Where are we walking to?"

Shane forced himself to drag his thoughts away from her words and back into the present. Where _were _they walking? Where _was _he? Where was the tour bus? He looked to his right and to his left as though a sign were about to sprout up from the ground pointing him in the exact direction of Nate and Jason and then, when it didn't, he groaned.

"You don't know where you are, do you?" Mitchie asked, surveying the man in front of her carefully. When Shane finally shook his head (he saw no other alternative) she sighed, stopping once more and gesturing for him to catch up. "Come on, I was at your concert. I know where your bus is."

Looking at her momentarily with a confused expression painted across his features – she was still going to help him? – it took Shane all of two seconds to decide that yes, he was going to follow her. Lost in Cohasset, Massachusetts was not something he wanted to be.

When he got level with the brunette, she stuck out her right hand. "Okay. Start over. Hi, I'm Mitchie Torres."

"Hey, Mitchie. I'm Shane Grey." He shook her hand with a genuine smile on his face.

The smile he received in response was a natural reaction, there was very little doubt about that, and Mitchie dropped his hand and continued on her way with a more chipper spring in her step. "Well, pop star. Let's go and find your band. There's a small possibility that they're missing you."


	5. Science & Faith

**Title:** _Life Is Life_

**Summary: **_Once upon a time there was a fanfic called Believe In Me. This is the revamped version.__ "Left his house at midnight, resolute and young, in search of something greater than the person he'd become." __AU Smitchie._

**Author's Note: **_I'm trying to stick to one chapter a day, and so far it's working pretty well for me. Also, this third person writing is so much easier, I don't know why I didn't do it before! Thank you to my reviewers, and a big hello to everyone who put me/this story on their alert list.__  
><em>

**Disclaimer: **_Don't own._

**Music:** _Science & Faith – The Script_

**Having heavy conversations  
><strong>

**About the furthest constellations of our souls  
><strong>

**We're just trying to find some meaning  
><strong>

**In the things that we believe in  
><strong>

**But we got some ways to go**

They continued their stroll up the street in very little awkwardness – something that Mitchie thought was miraculous considering the outburst that was still lingering in her mind at least – but still in silence.

Silence never sat well with Shane, though, and therefore it made sense that he was the one to break it. "So, if I'm correct, it was my question."

He wasn't correct at all, but Mitchie felt that she'd challenged him enough for one evening and remained silent, expecting him to just fire away with whatever it was he wanted to ask. The confidence that she'd discovered when she was telling him off had ebbed away into near enough nothing and in all honesty she was just hoping that this walk back to the bus wouldn't drag on.

"Hm… what's your favourite thing in the world?" Shane asked, deciding that now he knew her name and her age he could get a little more personal. He was thinking the opposite to Mitchie; he wanted to find out more about this girl. He hadn't put enough thought into it to determine whether it was because he actually cared or just so as to find some flaw with her so that he could discredit everything she had said about him, but that didn't matter. That part could be worked out later.

The question may have been a little more personal, but Mitchie didn't have to think about her reply for very long. The answer was automatic, instinctive. A fraction of a second after the words had left his lips she was uttering her reply. "Music."

"My music?"

"It's not my absolute favourite."

This brought a smirk to Shane's face. "But you acknowledge it?"

"I was at your concert, wasn't I?" She rolled her eyes and scuffed her sneaker against the concrete she was walking on. "And technically you just asked three questions."

The boy made a noise like he'd just been slapped, the width of his mouth and the shake of his head showing his distaste at the idea of losing out on questions without meaning to. "Hey, no! That's not fair!" At the laugh from his companion, he made a grumbling noise and shoved his hands into his pockets. "Fine. No more questions after questions, but you have to be more elaborate with your answers. No single word sentences either."

This was a rule not to be argued with and Mitchie resigned herself to coming up with a fuller answer. Taking a few seconds to compose the words in her mind, she inhaled slowly before she divulged the detail that he had requested.

"Music is my favourite thing in the world. I love the power it can have over people. Music can change people's mood; make a person happier or even more depressed. The lyrics in a song can relate to a being, make people feel as though they aren't alone in the world. It can touch people in ways that people just... saying these things can't. Music is universal. You can go to a concert with a thousand strangers, but in those minutes, where you're all singing the same words, you feel like you know them. I'm not an outgoing person, not usually, but when it's me and a piano... nothing else matters."

Shane didn't know what he'd been imagining she'd say, but he was amazed. His initial thought was concerning how deep this girl was (and, consequently, how shallow he must appear in comparison) but that didn't seem to do it justice. Nothing did. He didn't even think he could string a sentence together after that.

When she looked up to see him staring at her so intently, Mitchie couldn't halt the blush that spread across her cheeks and the thought that he would possibly comment on it caused her to shoot straight ahead with a question of her own - and one that would take all of the attention away from her at that.

"Why are you such a jerk?"

Shane certainly had to roll with the punches tonight. Just the question made him wince and he had to take pause so as to work out a response. He should have predicted that this would be put to him, especially by a girl who appeared to have no inhibitions about telling him like it was. The only thing that kept him from ignoring the query all together was that he wasn't about to lose this odd little game, and so after about a minute of silence he spoke up. "Because I act like it."

Mitchie had been contemplating the possibility that he was offended with the question, angry with her for straying back into that territory again. They had, after all, just moved away from her outburst and she could only imagine that delving into the subject of his attitude again was one of the last things he wanted to do.

But then he answered - surprising her slightly; she'd been almost positive he wasn't going to, and she was also positive that she wouldn't have thought any less of him for not doing so – and when he realised that four words was hardly an elaborate answer he answered some more.

"My record label want to run my life. They change the songs we write, decide on everything and are trying to mould us into this manufactured boy band. And I hate it. So I rebel. I've never been any good at talking things out, which means showing how I feel. I act like a jerk... because it's the only way I can think of to make my feelings known."

A pang of sympathy jerked through Mitchie's chest. That prospect had never occurred to her. She was almost ashamed that she'd just assumed Shane was acting the way he did because that was just who he was. Some people were just born idiots, and she'd presumed that Shane fit that bill. Perhaps she'd been wrong to draw that conclusion.

"But surely you can see that it's not the best way?" She hoped that the understanding she had suddenly acquired translated through her tone, hoped that Shane picked up on it.

His deep breath, followed by what he hoped was a casual shrug, didn't give her any clues on whether he'd detected the emotion in her voice, but it gave her an idea on his state of mind. "I have the reputation now. Everyone thinks I'm this bad boy and I don't know how to change that. I don't know if I can."

He'd given up. He'd resigned himself to wearing the label that he'd been given. And although Mitchie didn't approve of that aspect of his situation, her mind was buzzing with the facts she'd just been dealt with.

Shane had been screwed over by fame. Record contractors had caused him to be the way he was, spurred him to act the way he was famous for acting. And while she still didn't condone his jerk behaviour, she understood the problems that came with being given a reputation. She, after all, had been dubbed a 'good girl' and she was under no illusions that when – and it seemed a foregone conclusion now, it wasn't 'if' anymore – her parents found out about her midnight walk with a bad boy celebrity she'd be in more trouble than she'd ever been. Her mother would berate her for breaking the rules, berate her for not acting like the good girl she was. But how had she been given the title of good girl? True, she had never done anything especially bad, but she'd never done anything especially good either.

Maybe it was the same with Shane. Maybe his problem wasn't that he was too _bad_, but that he wasn't entirely _good_.

"I think you'd manage it better than you think you would," Mitchie said eventually, completely confident in the words that she was uttering but feeling the heat rise to her cheeks as she spoke them.

Shane had to think about his words carefully before he said anything, mostly because he didn't want to reveal the emotion that had taken over his mind at her remark. For the first time in a long time Shane Grey was embarrassed about a compliment that he'd been given. The thought crossed his mind that his embarrassment was down to the person throwing the compliment at him, but then that wasn't a possibility he wanted to think about; what hold could this girl have over him when they'd only been talking for a few minutes? It was much more likely that receiving such a genuine accolade had turned into a rarity.

"You think so?"

"You're not acting like a jerk right now," Mitchie said, giving a shrug.

"You're right. I'm not."

Silence passed between them again, leaving the two teenagers stealing surreptitious glances at one another as they carried on walking, Shane trying to work out why he couldn't help but feel that this girl was special and Mitchie just trying to work out_ Shane_.

"Hey! There's a park!" Noticing the looming climbing frame ahead, Shane turned his attention away from Mitchie – shoving all his thoughts regarding her to the very back of his mind for the time being. "Are there swings?"

"What sort of park would it be without swings?"

He laughed, wrinkling his nose as he replied. "A lame one, that's for sure."

Being spontaneous was something that Shane excelled at and something that Mitchie wasn't quite as rehearsed in (though by agreeing to go on a walk with a pop star she was getting more practice). So when the former grabbed the arm of the latter to pull her through the rusty gate and into the park, the latter wasn't expecting it at all. Shane only let go when they were immediately in front of the climbing frame, dropping Mitchie's arm so that he could jump on the swing.

He pushed off the ground, waiting until he was at a good height before speaking again: "What's your biggest fear?"

Mitchie sat on the swing next to him, pushing herself back and forth but never actually allowing her foot to leave the tarmac surface.

A large part of her, her head, was telling her that this was ludicrous; forming a confidante in Shane Grey, telling him things she hadn't said aloud to her parents or even to Caitlin, was just about the craziest thing she could do. She shouldn't be telling Shane Grey what her biggest fear was. What did he even care what kept her awake at night?

But it was her heart that won out; her heart's advice that spurred her to give a reply to his question.

"Uh… fading away. Not having an impact on anyone in life. Which is an irrational fear, I know, because we all have an impact on _someone. _I had an impact on my parents just by being born, and I suppose I've had an impact on my best friend Caitlin even though _she_ was the one that forced _me_ to become her best friend in kindergarten. I just… I don't want to die and have someone say at my funeral: she was sweet and liked music."

"I can think of worse things to appear in your eulogy."

"Oh, really? Like what?"

"He pushed everyone away with his jackass attitude and flipped his shit if someone didn't straighten his hair properly."

Mitchie laughed at that, her gaze following the boy on the swing as he went backwards and forwards. "What's one thing you've always wanted to do but have never done?"

"Ooh." Shane made an impressed noise as he kicked out strongly, aiming to go higher. He'd always loved swings. He used to like to get as high as he could and then jump off, relishing in the few seconds where he felt like he was flying. He'd have loved to be able to fly. But that wasn't an appropriate answer to her question on account of it not being feasible, and so he was forced to come up with something else. "That's a good question. I'd like to… write a love song for someone."

"Have you not done that before? I'm sure some of the songs on your alb –"

The vehement shake of his head cut her off and realisation dawned upon Mitchie in an instant, her mouth settling into an o shape. "You didn't write those songs?"

"Not a word of them."

Bitterness surged through him and suddenly Shane didn't want to be swinging anymore, allowing his shoes to scrape noisily against the ground as he brought the swing to an abrupt halt. Mitchie stopped rocking too, and with the absence of the creaking chains the air around them felt even more still.

"I'm sure a million girls would offer themselves up as inspiration for a love song from you." It was only after she'd spoken the words that Mitchie realised that they might not provide the comfort that she'd hoped they would. Reading between the lines, Shane had never suggested he didn't have a muse for his love song but rather that nothing would ever come of it. He wouldn't be able to sing it, and who wrote songs that weren't for singing? Maybe he did have a muse. Maybe he did love someone.

As it happened, Shane didn't have the inspiration to write a love song or the support to write a song of any kind. He had had girlfriends, absolutely, but hadn't harboured enough genuine feelings for any of his dates to begin to think about writing a song for them. Almost every single girl he knew could be labelled fake in some way – as a result of their personalities or their penchant for plastic surgery or both – and they were fine on a short-term fling basis, fine to have on his arm at a premiere or Hollywood event, but any more than that and they started to grate his nerves.

He didn't make any kind of reply to the statement that Mitchie offered, but instead barged straight into asking another question of his own, one that was sure to take her by surprise.

"Ever been in love, Mitchie Torres?"

She answered instantaneously but was unable to mask the shock at the query. "No. What about you?"

"Me? No. Never."

"Would you want to be?" She didn't know what made her ask it, confused about the words even after they had fallen from her lips.

Shane didn't seem too disconcerted by the question - or if he was, he hid it well - and answered the secondary question with ease, albeit vaguely. "Maybe. One day."

Mitchie couldn't sit and absorb yet another pause and so she stood quickly, making her way over to the climbing frame and pulling herself up the metal ladder that had seemed so high when she was a child and that now seemed too small. She felt like Alice after she'd eaten the cake that made her grow, except the change in her perspective was down to an uncontrollable growth spurt as opposed to choosing to eat a snack marked 'eat me'.

The time that it took her to tug herself up into a sitting position on the small ledge of the climbing frame allowed Shane more of an opportunity to think up his next question. If someone had asked him about it, he wouldn't have been able to pinpoint what made him think of the query, but by the time she was giving him her attention once again he knew that it was what he was going to ask.

"This may be a weird question, but favourite season?"

Mitchie narrowed her eyes as the serendipity of the question – she'd just been thinking about it earlier as Caitlin drove her through the town – occurred to her. She'd worked her answer out without even knowing that she'd have to divulge the information. "Fall. It's so raw and beautiful, but not in an obvious way. It's confusion in nature, and often imperfect. But that's what makes it so real."

Shane felt as though someone had kicked him in the stomach, not because he disagreed with her answer or because he hadn't wanted to hear it, but because it was almost verbatim of the thoughts he'd had earlier in the day. She couldn't have possibly known that about him, couldn't have possibly just decided to say what she thought he wanted to hear. This girl sitting in front of him was not like the fake people he was surrounded with day-to-day, and if everything else he'd learned about her tonight were not proof enough of that, this final answer were enough.

But that left one problem: now that he had established that this girl was somehow _special_, what was he going to do about it? What could he do about it?

Nothing. He couldn't do a thing. He was going to leave this town tomorrow morning and go to a new city and he and Mitchie Torres were never going to cross paths again. What else _could _he do?

He stood up quickly, attempting to suppress the disappointment that was flooding through him for reasons unknown (or reasons known that he didn't want to face up to), and extended a hand to the girl who was sitting in shadow on the climbing frame. "C'mon. Let's go."

* * *

><p>The questions pinged easily, back and forth, as the two teens traced the final streets of their journey. Neither of them delved into the subjects that had caused so many of their early pregnant pauses, instead focussing on topics like their parents' careers or favourite colour or the albums they'd take with them if they were stranded on a desert island presuming that they got prior warning of their stranding and also presuming that this desert island had some means of playing CDs.<p>

In no time at all, Shane was finding himself recognising the buildings around him and although he was fairly certain that he'd reached a point where he could have found his way back to the bus flying solo, he neglected to mention the fact. When they turned the corner to find the tour bus that he had been calling home for the past two weeks he was relieved, yes, but he was also tempted to give a heavy sigh.

"Shane!" A cry from a voice that was very familiar to Shane and slightly familiar to Mitchie erupted from the bus and the door to the vehicle was opened quickly, releasing a tall man who ran over to his band mate and captured him in a bear hug. "You're not dead!"

"Thankfully," came another voice, this one from a boy standing in the doorway of the bus who was just watching the scene before him.

"Yeah, yeah. You can let go of me now, Jase." Shane wrenched himself from the grasp of Jason and stood back a little as though to ensure he stood a chance at getting away if the other Connect 3 member decided he wanted to hug some more.

Although her evening had hardly been normal up to that point, there was just something about being stood with the line-up of Connect 3 in what could only be described as a private parking lot behind the venue that they'd performed in that night that Mitchie just couldn't wrap her head around. Or maybe she just wasn't prepared to try and wrap her head around it. Either way, she shot a polite smile in the direction of both the other boys and then turned to Shane, gesturing over her shoulder with her thumb as she spoke. "Well, I got you back in one piece. Now I should probably go home and find a way in –"

"Nuh-uh."

The sound surprised her, and Mitchie's gaze slid to Jason who was shaking his head fervently. She wasn't the only one confused by the action; Shane had furrowed his brow in confusion and Nate wasn't looking like he understood what was going on.

"What?" Shane spoke first.

"Shane." Jason's tone could have been patronising, and Mitchie supposed that had anyone else been saying it then it would have been exactly that. But Jason didn't give off any kind of air of superiority and so his words were just an explanation. "It's two in the morning. She's a teenage girl. Who knows what could happen if she walks home alone? And you can't walk her back because you needed her to walk you here and so you'd get back and then she'd have to walk you here and that could just go on _forever_."

A stunned silence followed his justification; Shane and Nate watching their band mate in astonishment and Mitchie watching because she hadn't thought that far ahead at all. Jason, on the other hand, seemed completely oblivious to the shock that his explanation had elicited.

Clearing his throat, Nate recovered the quickest and voiced his surprise with a: "Wow. That actually made sense. He's right."

He was, of course. All four of the people standing around the bus knew that to be true. They also all knew that there was only one outcome of this situation. It was just that none of them wanted to be the one to say it.

But one of them had to; they couldn't just stand there waiting all night. And so it was Shane who stepped up to the plate, addressing Nate. "So, she can stay with us. On the bus."

"Where will she sleep? The couch?"

"She can have my bed."

"And where will you sleep?"

"The couch," Jason piped up, then adding one more syllable after a short lull. "Duh."

"The couch. Right. Well, that's settled then." Shane clapped his hands together and then turned to the bewildered girl whom he had spent the better part of an hour getting to know. He would have been lying if he said that he wasn't glad he hadn't had to say goodbye quite yet. "Mitchie, you have no say in this whatsoever. Get on the bus."

Mitchie would like to think that she put up more of a protest. She'd like to think that she insisted all would be fine if she walked home and that really, Shane didn't have to give up his bed for her. She'd like to think that the boys of Connect 3 coerced her into it, stubborn and chivalrous and not taking no for an answer.

In reality, however, she just got onto the bus.


	6. All I Want

**Title:** _Life Is Life_

**Summary: **_Once upon a time there was a fanfic called Believe In Me. This is the revamped version.__ "Left his house at midnight, resolute and young, in search of something greater than the person he'd become." __AU Smitchie._

**Author's Note: **_I had hoped to have this finished for lunchtime today (UK time, of course, I have no idea whether it's lunchtime where you are) but I got distracted watching my future husband Sebastian Vettel win the Indian Grand Prix. I had written one sentence six hours ago, so I'm pretty proud of what I've managed to get done in one afternoon. This is very different from its Believe In Me counterpart and in a way that I think (hope) improves it. To everyone I know is reading this (I see you, my 46 visitors to Chapter 5, even if you won't reveal yourselves in a review): hope you enjoy it._

**Disclaimer: **_Don't own._

**Music:** _All I Want – One Night Only_

**All I want is something to believe in **

**Even if it's just to hear your name**

**All I want is all you've got me feeling lately**

**Please don't let me throw it all away**

They say that you learn something new every day, and while Shane would have struggled to tell you what he'd learned in the days prior to meeting Mitchie he could not deny learning something that night. What he learned was that tour bus couches were not made to be slept on.

They were compact, which made sense when Shane thought about the limited space that a bus provided but that thought didn't bring any comfort to him when all he really wanted was a good night's sleep. They were the type that practically swallowed whoever was sitting on them, which was fine when sitting was all he was doing but was less than fine when he was lying down and finding himself further enveloped in the fake leather material every time he moved a millimetre. The fake leather material itself just added to the discomfort, sticking to the bare skin of his arms.

No, the couch was not a comfortable place to be. Shane had barely slept a wink all night, something that he would almost definitely attribute to his awful sleeping place when asked later. Whether or not that was the whole truth, however, was something that he planned on keeping to himself.

He tried not to analyse things as a rule, merely because from experience it just got him more worked up than usual, but his conversation with Mitchie Torres floated into his mind whenever he tried to shut it down and he couldn't help but attempt to evaluate the situation.

She was in his bed, on the other side of the thin drywall panels that constituted as room dividers. At some point, probably sooner rather than later, she was going to leave that room and they were going to have one last conversation and then she was going to leave his life. And it was that thought, as well as the discomfort of the couch, that kept him awake, that kept his mind buzzing, kept him staring at the ceiling as though the answer to the question that he hadn't yet asked was going to appear there.

It was in this position that Nate found him when he walked into the small 'living area' early the next morning.

"You're on the couch," the younger boy said, as though this was something that his band mate may not have noticed.

Shane didn't move. So Nate repeated his sentence. And then repeated it again.

"And?" Shane, who had been well aware of his friend's presence in the room and had been hoping that he'd just go away, retorted eventually. "Mitchie needed a bed."

"Yeah, but since when did you care about what other people need?"

Shane scoffed, sitting upright and staring his band mate in the face. "Since always. I'm not inhumane, Nate. She needed a bed. And I didn't see you or Jason offering."

He couldn't actually remember whether this was true or not. There was, of course, a strong possibility that he'd chipped in before either of the other Connect 3 members had been able to but even then: Mitchie needed _a _bed. The fact that it was _his _bed held no real significance, other than the fact that he had his own room and Nate and Jason had bunk beds.

If anything, it _had _to be his room. If anything, Shane had had _no choice _but to surrender his own room so that Mitchie didn't have to go through the ordeal of sharing with Nate or Jason.

Though – and Shane hated this thought and then hated himself for hating the thought – maybe she wouldn't have been entirely opposed to that. She'd been at their concert for a reason, right? Maybe she was one of the freaks that wanted to marry Nate. Or one of the bigger freaks that wanted Jason.

Nate didn't reply to this, just shook his head with an air of disbelief before pushing aside the blankets that had been shoved to the very end of the couch and sitting where Shane's feet had been. Then he grabbed the remote control and turned on the television, proceeding to flip through the channels.

Fragments of sentences uttered by news readers, TV characters, celebrities and politicians filled the small space on the bus, but Shane was able to block most of them out with the horrifying thought that perhaps it was the supposed attraction one of his band mates that had lured Mitchie to their concert the night before. He didn't even contemplate why the thought bothered him so much, other than to mentally berate himself for allowing it to bother him so much. It just did.

"More job losses in th –"

"People say that Britney is bac –"

"- poker is joker with a 'p'. Coinciden – "

"- trying as hard as we can to bring the econo –"

"- no, she totally got on the bus with Shane – "

"Have you had an accident at work? You could claim up to –"

The one thing that was guaranteed to stop Shane thinking about someone else was someone talking about _him_ and as soon as the fact that someone on the TV had said his name had registered in his mind, he grabbed the remote control from Nate and flicked back.

"- oh, I'm a huge Connect 3 fan." A blonde girl around his age was speaking to a presenter; simpering as she spoke and allowing her eyes drift to look at the camera far too often. For a moment, Shane wondered if anyone had ever made his or her hunger for fame more obvious than the girl on the screen, but then what she was saying took precedence in his interests.

"I was waiting to see if any of them would come back out after the show so that I could get their autographs. And then I saw Shane and a girl walk up the street and they seemed to know each other real well if you know what I mean."

She winked and Shane inhaled sharply. This was live. This was happening now. And this was happening just a few hundred yards away from their tour bus.

"They were talking and then I watched as she got onto the bus with him."

"And she hasn't come out?" the presenter asked, drawing the microphone back to him for a moment before extending it back to the blonde.

"No. No. Whoever she is, she's definitely still in there with Shane."

The male presenter thanked his source and turned to face the camera full on, giving a cocky grin as he did so. "Well, there we have it. Does Shane Grey have a new squeeze? He hasn't been spotted with anyone at any of the shows previous to this one, but that doesn't have to mean a thing. We're coming live from Cohasset, Massachusetts to find out the details of this new Connect 3 gossip."

An advert burst onto the screen, obnoxious and loud, but neither of the two boys sitting on the couch moved an inch.

Shane felt as though someone had wrapped a fist around his stomach and lungs, digging their fingers in. But why? This sort of thing had happened before; it was nothing new. He'd never felt like this about it before.

Nate's feelings can be summed up in the words that he uttered, breaking the ten-second silence.

"What have you done now?"

"What the hell? What do you mean what have I done? Nothing. She offered to help me find my way back here, and we all agreed that it was safer not to let her walk around the streets on her own. Or have you conveniently forgotten that one?"

"What is Jeff going to say?"

"What do you mean 'what is Jeff going to say'? Who cares what he's going to say? He doesn't run our lives, Nate. Or he shouldn't. What about Mitchie? What about what people are going to think about her?"

The expression on Nate Daniels' face morphed through a myriad of emotions before it settled on one that could easily be imagined on the face of someone much older and wiser than he. It was knowing and calm, and yet it was also unsure like he didn't know what could be coming next.

The expression on Shane Grey's face was both the complete opposite and not that different at all. It was stubborn and resolute but with traces of confusion, with traces of misunderstanding, with traces of not knowing what any of this meant.

As the two were staring one another out, not sure exactly what they were waiting to happen, the final member of Connect 3 came scrambling into sight, his eyes wide as he cut into the tension that he didn't even realise was there.

"Have you two looked out of the window?"

They hadn't, of course, but once the idea had been planted in their heads they couldn't resist; Shane and Nate surged over to the tinted window and peered out of it, Jason hot on their heels.

"_Shit_," said Shane, in reaction to the sight in front of them.

"You can say that again," was Nate's contribution.

"_Shi –_"

"I wasn't serious."

"This is serious though." Jason took a turn to speak, his eyes glued to the scene out of the window.

"Yeah, it is. This is bad."

* * *

><p>Mitchie woke up – woke up, but didn't open her eyes – in very unfamiliar surroundings in a very unfamiliar bed in to a very unfamiliar noise, and instead of forcing herself to work out everything at once she decided to tackle them one at a time.<p>

The unfamiliar surroundings were… a tour bus. She remembered climbing the steps and being shown to the smallest bedroom she had ever seen. She'd been to see Connect 3 in concert the night before and so she was currently on the large bus that belonged to the band, their name tattooed on both sides of the vehicle. Confusion one: sorted.

The unfamiliar bed, therefore, belonged to Shane Grey. He'd appeared at the bottom of her front garden, she'd walked him back to the aforementioned tour bus and in an act of unexpected chivalry she was told that she couldn't walk home on her own and was to be taking his bed for the night. Confusion two: solved.

The unfamiliar noise was the most difficult of the three, but even then it didn't take her long to work out that it was the sound of squabbling boys.

"What the hell? What do you mean what have I done? Nothing. She offered to help me find my way back here, and we all agreed that it was safer not to let her walk around the streets on her own. Or have you conveniently forgotten that one?"

Mitchie screwed her eyes shut tighter, rolling over and burying her face in the pillow she'd been using. It smelled of aftershave and hair product and that general _boy _smell that is very difficult to describe in any other way but boyish, and it was as this information processed in her mind that it all sunk in.

She was on Connect 3's tour bus, in Shane Grey's bed, while (she presumed) the boys from the band were engrossed in an argument about something.

"What do you mean 'what is Jeff going to say'? Who cares what he's going to say? He doesn't run our lives, Nate. Or he shouldn't. What about Mitchie? What about what people are going to think about her?"

Oh, brilliant. It was an argument about her.

Mitchie stood up quickly, taking a few seconds to look around the room and ingest all that she could. Flashes of the evening's events were coming back to her – swings, love songs, poetic words about autumn – and each recalled memory seemed even more bizarre.

Was this real life? Had this really happened to her? Ashton Kutcher wasn't about to pop out and announce that she'd been Punk'd, right? (The ridiculousness of this thought was rendered even more ridiculous when she remembered that ordinary people didn't get Punk'd. Celebrities got Punk'd.)

She had no idea what her next move should be. She had to leave this bedroom, she knew that much. Her parents were probably awake now – shit, they were awake and would know she wasn't at home – and she had plans to meet her best friend at the mall. But for some reason – most likely the fact that the people out there were famous and renowned for being cool and she was the opposite on both counts – Mitchie didn't really feel compelled to leave the confines of this bedroom.

A few seconds were wasted as she contemplated what exactly would happen if she didn't leave, something that she's not proud of, but eventually she decided that there was no alternative whatsoever. And so before she could think about it too much, she pulled open the door and stepped out into the most claustrophobic hallway imaginable.

In only a few steps she reached the living area, where three boys were knelt on one of the couches staring out of the window intently, their backs to where Mitchie was standing. The television was on in the background.

"This is serious though."

"Yeah, it is. This is bad."

"What is?"

The heads of all three of the members of Connect 3 snapped around to stare at her as she made her presence known, and Mitchie felt herself blush. This was so weird on every level.

She became painfully conscious of how wrinkled her clothes must look on account of her spending the night in them, as well as how big of a resemblance her hair must bear to a birds nest.

"Uh…" Shane made a sound, the well-known sound that everyone who wants to buy themselves some time while constructing a lie makes, and stood up properly. "Well, you see…"

"And we're back, from Cohasset, Massachusetts where Connect 3 played last night on their 'Up Close and Personal' tour! Reports surfaced early this morning about Shane Grey bringing a girl back to their tour bus and so I, Matt Baker from Hot Tunes, am here to get the lowdown."

A string of emotions went through Shane Grey's mind at that very moment, some of which he was ashamed by and some of which didn't make him ashamed at all. His first thought was that he was somewhat relieved he hadn't had to break the news. His second thought was that hearing such a thing from the television probably wasn't the best format either. His third thought was that at least it was all out in the open, and his fourth thought took him back to trying to decide whether to tell the girl in front of him that there were at least thirty photographers stood in wait outside the tour bus ready to capture the moment when she left.

Mitchie had frozen, her attention fixed on the TV as she took in everything. They were talking about her. On Hot Tunes, they were indirectly talking about her. And they were talking about her as though she'd gone back to Shane's bus for reasons other than to avoid walking home by herself at midnight.

"Oh, my God." Her words were whispered but still managed to reach the ears of the three others in the room with her. And they were stereotypical boys in that not one of them knew what to do or say to the girl to make her feel any better about the situation.

An uncomfortable silence spread throughout the room, all four people rooted to their spot. It was Mitchie who moved first, turning away from the TV show which was still spouting speculation to face the band that she'd just met.

"I'm so… I'm so sorry."

There was a pause that allowed for confusion to settle over the three who hadn't spoken.

"What are you sorry for?" Shane asked, creasing his brow in confusion.

"I'm sorry for falling off my roof. I'm sorry for being an idiot and not having my cell phone or key with me. I'm sorry for not thinking about the fact that if I walked you to your bus then I'd just have to walk back and that wouldn't be good, when I'm sure it would have been okay just to wake up my mom and dad and ask if you could stay with us. And I'm sorry that it ended up on TV because that can't be good for your image. I'm sorry."

"That's crazy. You don't have to be sorry, for any of that," Nate said, almost as soon as the girl had finished her speech. He looked at Shane as he added an "It's not your fault," accusing him through a glare; it was Shane's fault, not Mitchie's.

Shane couldn't help but rise to the bait. "Hey, don't even look at me like that. It wasn't my –"

"Like that matters." He was cut off by a wave of Nate's hand. "We have bigger problems to deal with right now."

Mitchie nodded, taking a step towards the door as she did so. "I should probably let you get to working that out then, and sneak away before anybody –"

Shane shook his head lightly, causing her to stop speaking. "That's not going to work."

"What do you mean?"

"There's no way you'd be able to sneak out of here without anyone noticing."

"What do you –"

"They're filming that –" Nate nodded in the direction of the TV. "- just outside."

"And on the off chance that Hot Tunes don't catch you as you make a break for it, one of the thirty or so photographers might," Shane added, his tone matter-of-fact.

"Shane." Nate's voice was low, akin to a warning tone, but Shane had no idea what he could possibly be warning him about.

"I'm just telling her what she's up against, Nate."

Now more than ever did Mitchie want Ashton Kutcher to fling open the door of the tour bus and ascend the steps, declaring it all to be a sick kind of joke. But that wasn't going to happen. She almost wished she'd never left the bedroom and wondered for a second if it was too late to scurry back there and bury her face back into the boy scented pillow. But it was. And so she exhaled loudly and bit her lip before she threw out the one question she could throw out.

"What do we do now then?"

* * *

><p>Caitlin Gellar was having a perfectly ordinary Sunday morning. She had gotten up early to go for a run, something that Mitchie regularly berated her for but that she still did every week anyway because it wasn't about getting thin it was about keeping <em>fit<em>. Then she'd come back, poured herself a jumbo bowl of cereal and sat down to watch Hot Tunes. Mildly interested in the idea that they were filming in Cohasset because of a new Shane Grey scandal, she'd just taken her last mouthful of Coco Pops when her phone rang.

She didn't recognise the number.

"Hello?"

"Cait, it's me. I haven't got my pho -"

"Hey Mitchie, you'll never believe Hot Tunes right now. They're filming in Cohasset, where we went to see Connect 3 yesterday. It has to be the most exciting weekend in the history of the town, doesn't it?"

"Yeah, sure. Uh, Cait, I'm actually calling because I need your help…"

"My help? What do you need my help with?"

When Mitchie told her, Caitlin dropped her spoon in her bowl with a noisy clatter.

* * *

><p>"You're going to have to be quick," Shane reiterated, succeeding in both stating the obvious and making Mitchie even more nervous about this entire thing than she already was.<p>

"I know."

"And you can't stop and look back, okay? Whatever happens."

"I know."

"I mean it; if anybody thinks there's anything suspicious about you then we might as well just open this door and walk out right now."

"I know."

"Okay."

The plan was a rushed one and in all honesty Shane wasn't sure he liked it, but that wasn't the point.

They had only been aware of the press attention for half an hour and already the number of people gathered outside the bus had more than doubled. That was a lot of pairs of eyes and it meant that they needed a really big distraction. Shane could provide that distraction, he knew he could, but it came at a price. He knew that, and Mitchie knew that, though neither of them had yet acknowledged it.

It was only when Nate and Jason left the room to grab a few bits and pieces that there was an appropriate moment to bring it up, and even then Mitchie didn't feel entirely confident in doing so. She had only met Shane a few hours ago, had only had one real conversation with him. It didn't feel like she should be the one asking him this question. That felt like the task of someone who knew him better.

But then, did anyone know him better? Some of the things he'd admitted to the night before weren't public knowledge, and she wasn't entirely convinced that the people he was sharing a tour bus with knew them. Maybe _nobody _knew Shane Grey well. Nobody but Shane Grey, at least.

"Are you sure you're okay with doing this?"

Shane, who had been trying his shoelaces as the question left her lips, hesitated, his gaze trained firmly on the floor. He didn't move from that position for a long moment, possible replies running through his head at high speed. And then he turned his head to face her, raised his eyes to meet hers. He didn't smile, but she didn't expect him to, but he nodded once.

"Yeah. Yeah, course."

At that moment, the other two members of Connect 3 entered the room again and Shane resumed tying his laces. When that task was complete, he snatched up a pen and proceeded to scrawl something on a notepad that was lying on the coffee table in front of him.

"Ready?" Nate asked, his gaze sliding from Mitchie to Shane and back again.

At Mitchie's nod, Jason stepped forwards and enveloped her into a hug. Shane scowled.

"It was nice meeting you Mitchie."

She smiled. "You too Jason."

Nate gave her a short nod, not moving from his spot. "Yeah. It's been really cool to meet you. Maybe again?"

Mitchie nodded too, sending her smile in Nate's direction. "That would be cool."

The words reeked of formalities; things that were said to people because they ought to be said rather than because of any real sentiment meant by them. Shane didn't want them to be meaningless, didn't want them to be so contrived. Hence why, when it was his turn to say goodbye, he pressed the piece of paper that he'd scrawled on into her hands.

"Call me. Text me. Or both. It might be weird, but… yeah. I'd like it."

Although it should have been an action with a huge magnitude of shock succeeding it, Mitchie didn't feel as though she could be any more overwhelmed with everything that was going on. A long line of things had happened to her since the night before, each one as bemusing and bewildering as the next, and the fact that Shane Grey had just handed her his phone number was just another addition to that list. Oh, she was sure that once it sank in she'd be both terrified and confused, but she'd felt too much of both of those emotions this morning for her to feel any more terrified and confused than she already was.

"Um… okay. Sure," was her less than enthusiastic reply.

"Really? Because I'll hold you to that," Shane said, his attempt to lighten the mood a little working as he'd hoped.

"Oh? And what are you going to do if I don't, Pop Star?"

"I know where you live, Torres."

Mitchie rolled her eyes, folding the piece of paper and clutching it in her hands; she had nowhere else to put it. "Oh Shane Grey... you couldn't find your way back to the town centre. I can't see you finding one house that you've stumbled upon accidentally one time at midnight."

"Well then... it looks like you'll have to call me."

She was just about to retort when the ping of an incoming message broke the mood. A quick check of his phone told Shane that it was the message Mitchie had been waiting for – Caitlin was in the vicinity – and Nate jumped into action.

"Right, Jason and I will go first, you'll follow… we all know what to do after that." His gaze lingered over Shane for slightly longer than necessary, before he shook his head and flung open the door to the bus. Both he and Jason had stepped out into the sunlight seconds later, and the two left inside the bus could hear the clicking of cameras and the questioning shouts.

Shane made a move to follow his band mates, but paused before he reached the open door as though he wanted to say something else. He did want to say something else. He wanted to say a whole hoard of other things, some of them fairly creepy and some of them fairly stupid, but none of them would form as words on his tongue.

"Thanks, Shane."

The way she said his name, almost like they were _friends, _was too much for him to handle and so with one final curt nod he made his way to the door and descended the steps, banging it closed behind him.

* * *

><p>"Shane! Shane!"<p>

"Did you bring a girl on your tour bus last night?"

"Who is she, Shane?"

"Is she still on the bus, Shane?"

"Shane! Care to comment?"

It was nothing new to him, the shouting and the pictures and the sheer ruthlessness of people in their quest to invade the privacy of other human beings who just happened to be famous.

It was nothing new to the paparazzi, Shane's moody expression, and his reluctance to make eye contact, his refusal to answer their questions.

It was nothing new to Nate and Jason, covering up a mess that their band mate had gotten himself into, even if his intentions had been good this time round.

To almost everyone involved, this scenario was routine, going through the motions, even. They knew their role, they knew how to play it, they knew what the outcome would be. It was second nature and completely ordinary; it was a script that they were reading off, a never ending loop of prying questions and silent answers, flashing cameras and surly looks.

To Mitchie, however, waiting for her cue to climb out of a window of the tour bus of a famous band so as to avoid the eyes and the lenses of the waiting photographers was entirely new. This was not ordinary, as far as she was concerned. It was anything but second nature. This was not something she had ever done before, and it was not something she particularly wanted to do again.

Mitchie's cue came in the form of something else that someone had never done before, though he definitely wouldn't say that he never wanted to do it again.

"Did you sleep with her, Shane?"

The question was fired at him from the crowd, the interrogator being a face that Shane very much recognised.

'How convenient' was one of the two thoughts that crossed Shane's mind as he came to an abrupt halt in front of the man, ignoring the microphone that had been shoved in his face as soon as the question was thrown.

The other thought, the one that fought for prominence as he balled his hand up into a fist and threw a punch directly into the nose of the TV presenter, was surprise at how easy this was, at how little guilt he felt at his action, at how much he actually _wanted _to punch this guy.

And, as his fist connected with cartilage, as a resounding crack filled the air, as Shane Grey broke the nose of Matt Baker of Hot Tunes, as the crowd of people around him went wild trying to snap a photo of the occurrence, a brunette girl jumped from the window of the Connect 3 tour bus, ran over to a waiting car, flung open the door and made her escape.


	7. Call Me

**Title:** _Life Is Life_

**Summary: **_Once upon a time there was a fanfic called Believe In Me. This is the revamped version.__ "Left his house at midnight, resolute and young, in search of something greater than the person he'd become." __AU Smitchie._

**Author's Note: **_Work has kicked my arse this week, so that's one of the reasons this chapter took so much longer than the others. The other reason was that this took much longer to write because it wasn't just a simple improvement job on the last story. There'll be snippets that are the same, but not a lot of it will be recognisable. I think that this will be the same for the majority of the chapters that follow – we're straying into kind of new plot territory – and so it might take a little while longer for me to update. But I have a plan all outlined, I know where I'm going, I'm just going to need you guys to keep motivating me._

**Disclaimer: **_Don't own._

**Music:** _Call Me – Blondie_

**Call me my on the line**

**Call me, call me any, anytime**

Shane Grey had done many a stupid thing in his lifetime and to make a list of his misdemeanours would take an age.

It would be an unfair assessment, however, to conclude that the motivation behind every one of his stupid actions was a self-preservation thing. Yes, _most _of the stupid things he'd done were driven by selfish desires, but not _all _of them. Not punching Matt Baker of Hot Tunes in the face.

It would also be an unfair assessment to decide that Shane didn't feel any kind of remorse for his past transgressions. Most of the time he did regret _something _about the way he'd acted, be it the words he said, the way he said them, the way his hair had looked at the time… He regretted absolutely nothing, however, about breaking Matt Baker's nose in front of two-dozen photographers while a girl he'd only just met and had done nothing unsavoury with escaped from the window of their tour bus.

It would be just plain wrong to assume that Shane Grey bore all of his punishments with his head held high, as he didn't; he negotiated, found loopholes, blackmailed and when all of the above failed he just snuck out. But the outpouring of outrage that he was subjected to when the manager of Connect 3, Jeff Witcombe, found out about the morning's events was something he sat through in silence. Defiant silence – his chin was up in the air, his jaw set firmly, his gaze harsh as he watched the man responsible for his unhappiness in general pace around the bus – but silence nonetheless.

Actually, despite the fact that Jeff Witcombe used the word "stupid" at least thirty times in his tirade and despite the fact that every single use had been directed at the black-haired boy sitting on the couch, Shane Grey couldn't help but think that he hadn't done anything stupid that morning. He had done something helpful, something necessary, something that the guy had definitely deserved. Stupidity didn't really factor into the equation.

He wasn't going to say any of that, though. Explaining what had happened, explaining _why _it had happened, wouldn't work, he knew that and both Nate and Jason knew that, and so instead of clearing his name Shane took the punishment.

Or he appeared to. His body was sat in the room but his mind was back, retracing the events of the night before, and forward, working out what he was going to say if – ha, let's be real, _when _– Mitchie Torres called him.

"I don't think you understand the magnitude of the situation, Shane," Jeff was saying, his arms gesticulating wildly as his voice increased in decibels by the word.

'There's no way she won't call,' Shane thought, not even noticing that his manager had just shouted his name so loud that the people back in Cohasset, the ones he'd put on a show for that morning, could hear it. 'There's no way she won't be just a little bit intrigued. After all, it's not like she has anything better to do.'

And then he berated himself for thinking such an egotistical thought.

* * *

><p>Meanwhile, Mitchie Torres and Caitlin Gellar were just sitting in Caitlin's car in Mitchie's driveway, the engine off and the silence between them filled with unasked questions.<p>

Caitlin's questions were to be directed at her best friend, the one sitting beside her with a furrowed brow and a confused expression on her face. She wanted to know how, why, what had happened. She wanted to know everything.

The answers to Mitchie's questions – or question, as there was really only one thing that she needed to understand – couldn't be given to her by anyone in the car, or anyone in Cohasset. In fact, she was fairly certain that only one person could answer the question that she had. _Why _had Shane Grey given her his number? What had he been thinking? Why her?

The girl in the driver's seat spoke up first, slicing into Mitchie's thoughts with her first and entirely open-ended question.

"So… what the hell was all that about?"

Mitchie sighed, pushing her still messy hair completely away from her face and turned to make eye contact with Caitlin. Where did she even begin to answer that question? Usually when people said 'it's a long story' it was anything but; it was something that could be summed up in a few sentences. This story of Mitchie's _was _a long story; a few sentences wouldn't do it justice at all.

"It's a long story…"

Caitlin rolled her eyes, flicking the handle that allowed her chair to be pushed back as far as it would go, stretching her legs out to their full length and putting her hands behind her head. "I've got time. This is much more interesting than going to the mall."

"Can I just… I need an alibi. My parents –"

"Consider it done. I lost my purse last night, called you early this morning to see if it had been mixed up with your stuff by accident, you said you'd come and help me find it at the venue."

"Right. Thank you, Caitlin."

"I'll only stick to it if you reveal what really happened right now."

Another sigh from the dark-haired girl, this one not because she was trying to work out where to start but because she actually had to form the words on her tongue. Saying it out loud, telling someone else… it was stupid, but it felt like it would ruin the magic of it. Still, this was her best friend. This was _Caitlin. _And they told each other everything.

"I was on the roof –"

"The makings of a good story, right there."

"Caitlin."

"Sorry. I'll interrupt as few times as possible."

"I was on the roof and I was singing to myself –"

"As we all do."

"_Caitlin_."

It looked as though she was going to make another retort, but Caitlin was silenced by a glare from her friend. She made a zipping motion across her mouth before gesturing for Mitchie to continue.

"And I was sitting there, when all of a sudden… he started speaking to me."

"'He' being…?"

"I'm just not going to tell you this story."

"Hey, no! That wasn't even a stupid comment, I legitimately needed clarification."

"Shane. 'He' being Shane Grey. Shane Grey started talking to me. Only I didn't know it was Shane Grey at the time."

"Could you not see?"

"He was hiding. In the bushes."

Caitlin snorted.

Mitchie ignored her.

"Anyway, we were having this conversation about music, and then he said he'd been at a concert. And I didn't know who he was, so I said I had too. He asked what I thought, I said –"

"Void of passion and soul." These words came from both girls, Caitlin having anticipated Mitchie's answer, causing the latter to roll her eyes and the former to laugh loudly.

"But then I worked out who it was," Mitchie continued, stopping emphatically at the end of the sentence as though that was the end of the story.

Her companion wasn't settling for that, though. "Right. But that doesn't explain how you ended up on his tour bus. It doesn't explain how he lured you out of your house. In fact, it barely explains anything. How exactly did you end up out of your house?"

Mitchie couldn't hold back the blush that crept over her face as she thought properly about that part, ducking her gaze away from Caitlin's and suddenly finding the chipped polish on her fingernails immensely fascinating.

"I, uh, fellofftheroof."

What should have been four words was merged into one, spoken very fast and nay incomprehensible. Caitlin had managed to work out what had been said – though she wasn't about to let Mitchie off easy.

"Sorry, what was that?"

The passenger closed her eyes, exhaling loudly. "I fell off the roof. That's how I ended up away from my house. I fell off the roof and didn't have my keys or my phone and the only thing I could think about was getting this lost pop star back to his tour bus before anyone really missed him – or me. And then I didn't think about the fact that I'd have to walk back, and so Shane and Nate and Jason demanded I stay on the bus so that I wasn't walking home at one in the morning."

It was the cliff notes version, without a doubt, but Mitchie didn't feel like divulging any of the not-so-sordid details to Caitlin. For now at least she wanted to keep those memories to herself so that she could analyse them without someone else chipping in with their own view on the matter.

Caitlin was silent for a few seconds after Mitchie's words. She wasn't a stupid girl; she knew that there was bound to be more detail than that. There must have been conversations that had been skipped, occurrences that had been glossed over, maybe even emotions that Mitchie was keeping close to her chest as opposed to on her sleeve. And there was a huge part of her that wanted to ask, wanted to demand the details right here right now. But the smaller part – the voice of reason, perhaps – was acknowledging that there must be a reason Mitchie wasn't being entirely upfront and that, unfortunately, as her best friend she had to respect that reason.

"So, nothing happened?" Caitlin said eventually, watching Mitchie's reaction intently. Cait was fairly sure she'd be able to tell were the other girl to lie in reply to this question.

"Nothing like that, of course not." Mitchie said, confidently lifting her gaze to meet that of her best friend. "He gave me his bed, he slept on the couch."

This spurned two raised eyebrows, and Caitlin was just opening her mouth to give her reply of surprise when a shout from the direction of the house caused all other thoughts to be thrown to the wind.

"_Michaela Marie Torres_!"

The heads of both girls snapped to where Connie Torres was standing at the door, hands on her hips, angry expression clouding her usually warm features.

Mitchie gulped.

"I would not want to be you," Caitlin commented, moving her seat back to the usual driving position before pulling at the handle to open the door. "Ready to lie through our teeth?"

"No," Mitchie confessed, but pushed open the door on her own side anyway.

She didn't lie to her parents. She didn't do anything that she _had _to lie about. She was a good girl, not necessarily because she set out to be but just because she wasn't bad. She didn't break curfew, she didn't sneak out, she didn't go on midnight jaunts with pop stars that culminated in sleeping in his bed on his tour bus. Even if he did sleep on the couch.

Caitlin didn't have much experience of lying to her parents, but she was much better at it than Mitchie was. Her face just seemed to settle into an apologetic look as the two of them were walking up to the door, and she was all ready with the cover story that they'd improvised minutes earlier.

"We're so sorry, Mrs Torres, it's mostly my fault. I won't take all the blame, but I called Mitchie early this morning because I'd lost my purse last night – I couldn't sleep and so was looking to see how much money I had for the mall later. And I didn't have it, so I called her to see if she'd picked it up by mistake or even if she remembered where it was, and she said she'd come and look for it with me."

Michael Torres appeared in the doorway behind his wife and smiled at Caitlin, then at Mitchie, putting his hands on the shoulders of the woman he'd married. "We're just glad you're home safe."

Connie didn't look so appeased, turning to Mitchie. Her daughter felt as though she was going to be sick, the truth spurting out like word vomit. "You went out this morning? Without your keys?"

Mitchie felt this immense need to look over at Caitlin, beg her for help with her eyes, but knew that this wouldn't reflect well on their story. _Shit, _what could she _say_? Her mom was right, it didn't make any sense to leave the house without keys and the door was locked wasn't it and how could she have done that without keys? The plot holes in their lie were gaping wide and Mitchie's mother was tearing them further apart with every second.

"Yeah," she heard herself saying, her voice sounding remarkably steady considering the inner panic attack she was having. "Yes. I went out the back door. It was quieter. Didn't want to wake you up."

"And without your phone?"

"I just didn't think about it. I didn't put it onto charge last night like I usually do, so when I left my room I didn't pick it automatically from there like normal."

"And you found the purse?"

Caitlin nodded, pulling her wallet from her pocket and waving it in the air. "Yep. Someone had handed it in at the venue. I think all the money's still there, though I can't shake this feeling that I had five more dollars _somewhere._"

Mitchie's mother still didn't look like she believed the story completely, the presence of a crease between her eyebrows told Mitchie that much. Mitchie just hoped she didn't notice the fact that she was in the same clothes she'd been wearing the night before.

"Come on, Connie," Michael Torres said, pulling her gently away from the door frame and giving the two girls room to slide past. "Let's get these two breakfast before they go to the mall. No harm done."

Caitlin began chatting amiably as the family made their way through to the kitchen, Mitchie's father responding in kind immediately and her mother beginning to do so after a few more seconds of silent suspicion.

Mitchie, however, continued to say nothing. There was a piece of paper in her pocket – a piece of paper that so many other girls would _kill _to have – and it was terrifying her. She had Shane Grey's phone number. Shane Grey had given her his phone number. Shane Grey wanted her to call him.

Now she just had to work out if she wanted to call him.

* * *

><p>That question – do I want to call Shane Grey – haunted Mitchie Torres all day.<p>

As she ate breakfast with her family and Caitlin, with the other females around the table giving her similar scrutinizing looks for very different reasons it was on her mind.

It was all she could think about, as she wandered around the mall with her best friend, not really paying attention to the things they were looking at. It was made worse when a Connect 3 song came on in one of the shops and she dragged Caitlin out of the building, earning herself strange looks and setting off a few alarms because of the things her friend hadn't put down.

As she sat at dinner with her mom and dad, the two of them talking about how the business was on the rise despite the current economic climate she remained uncharacteristically quiet.

She announced that she was going to bed at 9 o'clock, giving her parents the excuse that the early morning had tired her out, and retired to her room in the hope that she could force herself to fall asleep and not think about it.

No such luck, though; half an hour later Mitchie found herself sitting staring at her phone and at the number that she'd fished from the pocket of her shorts. She was mentally constructing a pros and cons list, starting with the fact that she couldn't wait for him to call her on account of him not having her number, and ending with the fact that she had no idea what she'd be getting herself into if she dialled that number.

The reason for him giving her his number was still ambiguous in Mitchie's mind. She couldn't work out any kind of reason, couldn't think why he'd want to stay in touch, and because she couldn't think of a genuine reason there was a small portion of her mind that thought maybe it was all a weird joke. Was he seeing if he could get the poor small-town girl to actually call a number he'd set up for kicks? Was he going to answer with a resounding '_ha, _as if you'd actually have a _chance _as far as being friends with me is concerned'?

She didn't want that to be true. There had been moments the night before where she'd thought she was seeing a side that hardly anybody ever got to see; flashes of a nice, funny, charming, caring guy. There were a few instances where he'd been pretty deep for a shallow person, a few glimpses where Mitchie had seen someone genuine behind that poseur exterior. She didn't want those moments to have been figments of her imagination, invented memories that had been woven into what really happened. She wanted them to be true, legitimate, _real_.

There was only one way to find out if they had been.

Before she could change her mind about it, Mitchie grabbed her phone, punched the digits in with shaking fingers, then pressed call and lifted the phone to her ear.

* * *

><p>Shane's phone had been by his side all day and he'd been checking it every five minutes – though he'd been trying to be discreet about it. But, as luck would have it, the moment that it began to ring was the one moment in ten hours in which he'd left it in a different part of the bus.<p>

As soon as the Libertines tune rang out through the confined space of the tour bus, Shane was on his feet; vaulting over the coffee table and not even thinking about how mad he must have looked racing through to his room to pick up a phone.

He didn't even know it was her calling. He could be speeding to answer a phone call that could just be his mother checking up on him (but that was unlikely, his mother tended to call once a month these days).

The number wasn't saved in his phone contacts.

Despite the fact that he'd rushed through to the room as though he'd just been told it was on fire and he had to save his possessions, Shane took pause before he answered the phone. He didn't want to look too eager, after all (though it was mostly because he was freaking out just a little bit over what to say).

"Are you going to answer that, or what?" Nate asked as he walked past the open door. He hadn't been witness to Shane's efforts to get to it so quickly, though he'd heard various crashes as he vaulted and hit things.

"Yes," Shane shot back, venomously. Then, before he could worry about it too much more, and before the phone stopped ringing, he pressed the 'take call' button and pressed it to his ear. "Hello?"

"Hey, Shane?"

"Mitchie?"

"That would be me," the girl on the other end of the phone laughed lightly. "You actually gave me your number. Wow."

"What, did you think that I hadn't?"

"Well… no. I mean… it's just…"

"My reputation?"

"Yeah. I guess so. I just… this doesn't happen to me. It doesn't happen to people like me. I don't meet celebrities and have them give me their number so that we can stay in touch." She paused, taking a breath. "They should make a handbook on it."

"Getting Celebrity's Phone Numbers For Dummies?" He laughed, then realising the potential implications of what he'd said. Was she easily offended? Would that offend her? "Um… not… not that I think you're a dummy or anything. I don't."

"I know. It's okay. It was pretty witty for a pop star."

"I don't know how many times I'm going to have to tell you; it's rock star."

"At least once more, pop star."

Shane laughed – a real laugh, the sound of which was almost alien to his ears. He didn't laugh like this. He hadn't laughed like this in ages. And here she was, this girl he'd known for less than twenty-four hours, making him laugh like he used to.

"So…" Mitchie said, her relief at having not been the victim of some cruel joke that Shane Grey thought would be funny settling with worry about keeping the conversation going taking its place. "Did you get into trouble?"

"As much trouble as breaking a TV presenter's nose will get you into, I suppose. I don't think he's pressing charges."

"You… you _broke _his _nose_?" Having been avoiding all websites and TV reports about Connect 3 in general, all of this was completely new news to Mitchie. "Tell me you didn't."

The guilt that hadn't been there before washed over him in tidal wave amounts. "Sorry."

"You didn't break _my _nose."

"I'd have felt much more guilty if I'd broken yours. He deserved it."

"Hm."

"You got away unseen though, didn't you?" Shane asked, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. It didn't matter if they disagreed on whether Matt Baker had deserved to have his nose smashed, if she'd managed to get away without being noticed then it was worth it.

"Yeah. Yeah, Caitlin got me away. I haven't told her that it's you who has her number, so don't you be calling her in the dead of the night."

"Why would I need to call her in the dead of the night now that I can call you in the dead of the night?"

"Why would you be calling anyone in the dead of the night?"

"Same reason people sit on their roof in the dead of the night."

"Because it's a Saturday and they have nothing better to do?"

"And to sing. You'll be waking up to some _interesting_ voicemail messages, Mitchie Torres."

"Oh, brilliant."

A voice from the living area called his name, and Shane recognised it as a still irate Jeff, most likely ready to update him on what people were saying about the morning's activities. Going out to listen to him go on and on about how irresponsible it was didn't sound nearly as appealing as staying in his room and talking to Mitchie, but it was one of those things that he couldn't avoid. Not if he wanted the rest of the tour to remain easy.

"Hey, Mitchie?"

Mitchie was struck by how much better her name sounded when he said it, the hint of New Jersey accent still kind of distinguishable. "Uh-huh?"

"I have to go. But I have your number now…"

Mitchie wasn't disappointed, exactly, but she had been anticipating a longer conversation than the one they'd had. Still, any trace of this emotion was masked in her reply. "Sure thing, pop star."

Shane laughed again, unable to help himself, and resisted the urge to correct her. He had a feeling that where conversations with Mitchie were concerned, the pop star/rock star thing would be a recurring thing. He'd have plenty of time to set her straight.

"I'll be texting you as soon as I hang up," he said, shifting his phone to the other ear.

"I have no idea why," Mitchie replied, but she couldn't prevent a smile spreading across her face.

"Because…" Shane began, ignoring another shout of his name from the living area. "Because I can. Plus, I don't think two people can share what we have and not be friends."

"What, a midnight swing?"

"Exactly. And you know you've always dreamed about being friends with me. I'm Shane Grey, for Pete's sake!"

"Who's Pete?"

"One of my other friends."

"You have friends?"

"God, Mitchie, do you have short term memory loss? There's you and Pete. It's a right party in my contacts book."

"It sounds it."

"Shane!" Jeff was more than irate now, and Shane knew that he was about two seconds away from storming into the room and dragging him out by his shirt. He wouldn't care about any phone call from any girl.

"I'll talk to you later, friend," Shane said as his goodbye, turning to face the door. He didn't hang up yet though, waiting for one more thing.

"Bye, Shane."

* * *

><p>Mitchie put down her phone, a smile playing on her lips as she lay back on her bed and stared up at the ceiling.<p>

Today had been so surreal. Less than twenty-four hours ago she'd met one of the country's most infamous lead singers. Now she was his friend.

She had a friend in Shane Grey.

Her phone buzzed from where she'd left it on her desk, and Shane's voice floated into her mind. _I'll be texting you as soon as I hang up. _

A laugh rose from her lips and she reached out her arm to grab the mobile device, clicking to open the new message. What on earth did he have to say –?

'_I know it was you, Mitchie Torres,_' read the text. '_I know you were the girl on Connect 3's tour bus._'

Needless to say, it wasn't Shane.


	8. Mr Brightside

**Title:** _Life Is Life_

**Summary: **_Once upon a time there was a fanfic called Believe In Me. This is the revamped version.__ "Left his house at midnight, resolute and young, in search of something greater than the person he'd become." __AU Smitchie._

**Author's Note: **_I need to get my act together if I'm going to get this finished in four weeks, so you'll hopefully be getting at least three chapters (including this one) this week. Maybe more, hopefully not less. But one thing I would love is reviews – thanks to those who have already told me they love it/to update, but I am checking out my stats and I can see how many people are reading. One word, one smiley face, that's all I'm asking. Knowing people want to see more is what I need to motivate myself to write more. Also, you're not going mad – I've changed it so that Mitchie is eighteen; her birthday was a week or two prior to the beginning of the story. The date in this story will be near enough the actual date from this point on._

**Disclaimer: **_Don't own._

**Music:** _Mr Brightside – The Killers_

**Jealousy, turning saints into the sea**

**Swimming through sick lullabies**

**Choking on your alibis**

**But it's just the price I pay**

**Destiny is calling me**

Sleep did not come easily to Mitchie Torres that night. In fact, she wasn't entirely sure sleep came at all. She stared at her ceiling for a very large percentage of the time, and though she did remember seeing the inside of her eyelids on occasion she couldn't be certain that those points weren't where she was _trying _to get to sleep as opposed to actually sleeping. On the whole, she'd hazard a guess that she maybe managed half an hour of rest out of the entire night - and she'd defy anyone who said she was exaggerating.

She didn't even have to mention this fact to her best friend as she walked up to her in the school parking lot; the greeting that was shot in her direction told Mitchie that the way she felt was indeed reflected in the way she looked.

"You look terrible."

Of course she looked terrible. She'd barely slept.

Someone knew. Someone knew that she had been the girl with Shane Grey; that the reason he had punched a TV presenter was so that she could get away without being seen; that she'd spent the night on the Connect 3 tour bus. Someone knew those facts – and not only that, they knew her phone number. Shane had said it himself – if anyone found out who she was, anyone at all, then the entire distraction plot would be rendered useless. It had been rendered useless. Someone had seen her, so it seemed that he'd broken the nose of some guy, was potentially facing charges for breaking the nose of some guy, for no real reason at all. Mitchie Torres might as well have just descended the steps of that tour bus and into the focus of the photographers.

Caitlin Gellar, however, knew nothing of the thoughts whirling through the mind of her best friend and so she wiggled her eyebrows suggestively at the exhausted looking brunette walking towards her. "Was it dreams? Dreams about being in Shane Grey's bed again? Except, maybe not alone this time…"

"No," was Mitchie's simple reply as she waited for Caitlin to get out of the car. "I got a text."

"You mean a _sex-t_?"

"No! Not a –" Mitchie's voice was indignant, but she cut herself off before she could protest too much, too loudly. People were already looking at her strangely because of the state she was in; she didn't want to draw further attention to herself. When she spoke again, her tone was much lower, even bordering on inaudible. "No. Someone knows."

"Someone knows what?" Caitlin said, shutting her car door with her hip and locking the vehicle with a click of a button.

"About… everything. Someone knows it was me."

"How could they know it was you? The distraction worked. It was a brilliant distraction. Did you see the picture Matt Baker put on Twitter with his two black eyes and –"

Mitchie didn't even pretend to listen to Caitlin's ramble about the Hot Tunes presenter's broken nose, but instead thrust her cell phone into her hands, and prompted her to read the text that had been permanently on the screen since it had been received.

She'd been sent other texts since getting that one - and she had a suspicion she knew who the new ones were from - but hadn't been able to bring herself to read them. The new message icon just sat at the top of the screen; instead of reading those texts, ones that would probably (she wouldn't deny it to herself) make her smile, she kept the words that she knew by heart on the display.

"_I know it was you, Mitchie Torres_," Caitlin began to read aloud, causing a loud shushing noise to come from Mitchie. "Who sent you this?"

"I don't know. I don't recognise the number."

Caitlin pulled her phone out from her bag, punching in the number that was on the screen of Mitchie's handset. Then she hit call, ignoring the protests from the other girl.

"Well, whoever it is, I don't have them as a contact. It'd have brought up their name if I did," Caitlin said, holding the phone to her ear.

"Of course you don't have them as a contact, it's probably one of the many photographers who were there yesterday!"

"Get real, Mitchie. None of those photographers would have been able to tell it was you, for one, because, sorry, you're a nobody. If they saw you leaving, they'd have had to chase after you to find out anything at all and none of them did. And even if by some crazy chance they did find out it was definitely you, how would they be able to get your cell phone number so easily?"

"So who is it then?"

"I don't know," Caitlin admitted, taking the phone away from her ear and hanging up. "It just kept ringing. Didn't go to a voicemail thing at all. It _must_ be someone who knows you though. Someone here, in Cohasset."

Mitchie sighed, seconds before the bell signalling the start of school rang out through the campus. "I don't know which I dislike more; the idea that a journalist has it or the idea that someone I know has it. Everyone will know soon enough, either way."

"Maybe not. Maybe it's someone nice who knows," Caitlin began as both girls began to walk in the direction of the front doors.

"Oh, yeah," Mitchie said, sarcasm dripping from her voice. "I know it was you Mitchie Torres, I know you were the girl on the Connect 3 tour bus, but I'm not going to do anything about it, just letting you know in an anonymous and sinister way. Have a nice night!"

Caitlin pulled a face as they merged with the crowd of students climbing the front steps into school. "Well, you know, we can always hope."

* * *

><p>There had been many an awful day at school for Mitchie Torres and if asked she could detail each one vividly like the horrors the day had brought had been etched into her brain.<p>

There was the day that her parents had bought her what she thought was the best t-shirt ever – it had the album cover of Abbey Road by the Beatles on it – and she'd worn it with such pride, only to have Rochelle Adams 'accidentally' pour acid red raspberry drink all over it at lunch.

There was the day that someone made up a rumour that she and Sam Rodeski had hooked up at Dan Freeman's seventeenth birthday party, which began with people whispering about her in homeroom and culminated in a near-breakdown in Biology class when someone asked her if she needed Sam to show her around the human anatomy and Caitlin had to tell them to get lost using a term that began with fuck and ended with off.

There was the day, a few weeks after the aforementioned Biology class incident, in which she was given concussion in gym class after being hit square on the head with a basketball thrown by the aforementioned Sam Rodeski and was then fed "did Sam bang you?", "ooh, Sam hit that", "hey, Mitchie, Sam told me he tapped you" comments until the bruise faded.

But none of those days came close to how bad that Monday was, starting from the sinister text message she'd received the night before and ending… well, we'll get to that bit in a minute.

Everyone was buzzing about Connect 3. People were talking about the concert, about Shane punching a TV presenter the morning after, about the fact that a girl had been on their tour bus with them and nobody knew who she was. Even people who hated them had some kind of opinion on the matter, even teachers made comments akin to "now, I know you're all excited about Shane Grey, but we really have to get on with French". Mitchie couldn't look anywhere without reading the words Connect 3 on somebody's lips, without hearing the rumour that it was a Cohasset High student who had been on the bus with the band, without wanting to sprint home and bury her head under the covers and hope that the entire thing would _just go away_.

Caitlin's suspicions about the text message being from somebody she knew didn't help matters at all. She was jumpy anyway, terrified that someone was going to call her out for not being as active in all the excitement, terrified that someone was going to decide it was her because she hadn't mentioned the band at all in the four classes they'd had before lunch. The thought that someone else who walked the hallways, someone besides herself and Caitlin that is, knew her secret was even scarier. She wouldn't make eye contact with anyone, she _couldn't_, in case it was the person who knew and they decided that they wanted to share.

"Stop it," Caitlin said eventually as they were standing in line to get food from the cafeteria.

"Stop what?"

"Tapping your foot. Looking nervous. Look normal, otherwise it's just drawing attention to yourself."

"I'd like to see you in this situation, Caitlin."

"Mitchie, I know as much as you do about this situation, okay? I'm having to listen to them all too, knowing the truth and wishing they'd all just shut up about it. But the truth is, they're not going to. And the more normal you act, the less likely it is that you'll draw attention to yourself and so the sooner they'll move on."

"It is not that easy," Mitchie hissed, glancing around to be sure that nobody else was listening in to their conversation.

"Well you have to _make _it that easy," Caitlin hissed back, just as the person in front of them moved out of the way and it was her turn to make her food selection.

As she was waiting for her friend to get her food, Mitchie scanned the crowded cafeteria. As well as terrifying her, it weirded her out a little too. When your entire world changes, looking out across a sea of other people whose lives are exactly the same as they've always been is unnerving, and that was how Mitchie felt. All of these people thought that Shane Grey was an egotistical pop star. They all thought that he had everything he wanted and that he was the luckiest guy in the world. How could they all think that? How had the smoke not cleared for them too?

A tap on her shoulder cut the considerations on the matter short, and she turned around to see Rochelle Adams – aka the bitch who ruined her Beatles t-shirt – standing behind her, a world class fake smile pasted on her face. "Hey, Mitchie. Can I have a word?"

Mitchie turned her body to face Caitlin, who had spun away from the lunch lady and was now watching the blonde girl through narrowed eyes, and shot her an expression that can only be described as one intended to say "help me!"

But what could either of them do? How could she refuse without looking suspicious? How could Mitchie wriggle out of it without looking like she had something to hide?

So she shrugged, helpless to do anything but, and left her place in line to follow the blonde girl who had done a remarkably good job of making her miserable in the past. A mantra of two words – act normal – revolved around her head, over and over again, and Mitchie was concentrating on them so much that she didn't even notice when Rochelle stopped and turned to speak, almost bumping into her.

"Mitchie. So, look, I just wanted to say, I'm really sorry about your t-shirt. The Beatles one."

Act normal, act normal, act normal.

"Um… well, that was in tenth grade. So I like to think that I'm over it now."

She wasn't – over it, that is, it had been her favourite t-shirt and it had been ruined on only the second wear – but that didn't seem like something a normal person would reveal. Anyway, this conversation wasn't about telling the truth or talking about feelings, it was about getting out of there as quickly and as painlessly as possible.

"Oh, good. I just am _so _sorry about it."

"Well, really, it's okay."

"Good."

Had Mitchie not just had the weekend she'd just had, she'd have said that this conversation was the weirdest one she'd ever had. As it happened, it would just have to take the title for third weirdest, or maybe fourth. But there was something about this one, something that didn't feel _right. _And try as she might to ignore the nagging feeling that the girl in front of her wasn't a friend at all, Mitchie couldn't shake it.

Just as she was about to excuse herself – the silence between them had stretched to more than a few seconds and, truth be told, Mitchie just wanted to get away and avoid Rochelle Adams forevermore – the other girl piped up again.

"I'm sure you know why I wanted to talk to you, Mitchie."

Act normal. Act normal.

"Honestly, I haven't got a clue."

"Oh, come on, Mitchie. You can't expect me to believe that. You got my text last night, didn't you?"

And there it was. Mitchie's worst suspicions: confirmed.

Act normal.

"Text?" It was a quick enough reply, but the pitch of her voice – just a little too high – was more than enough to give the game away and both Mitchie and Rochelle knew it. It may have been the brunette's imagination, but she could have sworn that the blonde's smile turned a little more ominous.

"I know, Mitchie. I know that you were the girl on the tour bus. Because, you see, I was the girl who broke the story. Saw you and Shane coming back to the bus in the early hours, decided to call Hot Tunes and watch the deer in the headlights look you performed when you did the walk of shame into the waiting paparazzi. But then you got away, and I was going to just leak your name to the press but then I got another idea. I won't tell a soul, Mitchie, I promise."

The inevitable condition hung in the air around them, Rochelle waiting for Mitchie to ask and Mitchie's mouth too dry to even do so.

"I won't tell a soul, Mitchie." The girl got bored of waiting, repeating her phrase before continuing. "_If_ you get me a date with Shane. Not just a date, even. I want to be his girlfriend. We can say that I was the girl on the bus, everyone at school will think it was me, you'll be out of the frame."

Out of the frame. Nobody would think it was her. She wouldn't be terrified to walk into school in the morning, wouldn't be too scared to make eye contact with anyone.

But she had to hand Shane over to this girl. This manipulative, bitchy, horrible girl, who was blackmailing her, who was using her to get an 'in' with someone famous. She may have only just met Shane, may have had a negative opinion of him up until only a few days ago, but she couldn't do that to him. Hadn't she just been thinking that he wasn't the guy that she thought he was? Hadn't she just been pondering the idea that he was a much better person than anyone at this school – including, evidently, Rochelle – gave him credit for being?

"Nobody would ever believe that you slept with him, Mitchie," Rochelle began again, obviously perturbed that her proposal hadn't been accepted immediately.

Mitchie's mind was made up in that instant. "I didn't."

"What?"

"I didn't sleep with him. It wasn't even me. I don't know what you're talking about."

A look of disbelief crossed Rochelle's face for only a moment, and then she began to laugh. "Oh, Mitchie."

Her laughter got louder and more people turned to look at them and Mitchie couldn't help but feel as though this would be a perfect time to make an exit, but her feet were almost rooted to the floor. She couldn't move, couldn't do anything but watch Cohasset High's answer to Regina George laugh like a hyena and draw the attention of everybody in the room in the process. She was vaguely aware of Caitlin behind her, grabbing her arm and attempting to steer her in the direction of the doors to the cafeteria. Still, she could not move.

It probably wasn't as long as it felt until Rochelle ceased laughing and wiped her eyes of the tears that had sprung there during her laughing fit, but Mitchie felt like she'd been holding her breath for a century. Her lungs were burning and her brain was begging for oxygen but she couldn't exhale until she heard what the blonde had to say. She couldn't exhale until she heard her fate.

Rochelle Adams flicked her hair over her shoulder – now she was playing for an audience. "Oh, Mitchie, you're so funny."

Then, with one swift movement, Mitchie found herself enveloped in a hug from the girl she had just made an enemy of, the oxymoron completed by the harsh hiss in her ear that was inaudible to anyone else in the room.

"I hope he was worth it."

And then she was gone, her exit from the room the prompt for the noise levels to return to normal.

Mitchie let out a shaky breath, sucking air in immediately, those words ringing in her ears.

_I hope he was worth it._

* * *

><p>Mitchie hadn't replied to any of Shane's text messages. He'd texted her five times between the end of their phone call the night before and five o'clock that afternoon, and he would only be being honest if he said that he didn't understand why she hadn't replied.<p>

They had gotten along fine, hadn't they? The phone call had ended on a fun note, hadn't it? They had agreed to be friends – of sorts – right? But from his limited experience Shane knew that friends replied to other friends' text messages and as of five o'clock on the afternoon on the 15th of November 2011 Mitchie Torres had not replied to Shane Grey's.

If he texted again, he'd just look desperate, right? He couldn't text six times in less than twenty-four hours. He shouldn't have even texted five. He should have sent one text last night, one this morning and left it at that.

They had a show tonight. He should be focusing on that. Connect 3 had a show in… ugh, where were they again? _Damn_.

He needed Nate here to give him a run down.

He needed Nate here to give him a _slap_. Maybe that would snap him out of it.

Groaning in frustration, Shane slumped back on the couch and laid his forearm over his eyes. What was he doing? This was all wrong. It was all wrong and it was all weird. A girl he'd met just over twenty-four hours ago was not supposed to be the sole occupier of his mind. And yet she was. He could not stop thinking about and wishing for contact from Mitchie. She made him feel half-normal, and half-normal was more normal than he'd felt in months. Years, even.

Right. That was it. He wasn't going to think about her until the end of the show that night. They were on in two hours; he'd do the show and then see if she'd replied. She wouldn't have school in the evening, she wouldn't have as much homework, she would have had dinner and they could talk without distraction. Yes. Fine. Two hours until the show, and until then he'd watch TV.

He sat up straight, taking his arm from his face and picking up the remote control, pressing the button that would bring the television to life.

"– and we're very pleased to announce that –"

"– something wrong with the left phalange –"

"– weather will be taking a turn for the worst on the east –"

"– Mitchie Torres has –"

"– I don't know, that is why we must go there –"

Wait, what? Shane flicked back as soon as he processed the fact that Mitchie's name had come from the speakers on the TV, hoping very much that he hadn't just imagined that Mitchie's name had come from the TV in his desperation to hear from her.

When he heard the rest of the story, though, he found himself wishing he _had_ just imagined it.

"Yes, you heard that right: we've received an anonymous tip-off that a girl called Mitchie Torres spent the night on the Connect 3 tour bus on Saturday when they played their concert in Cohasset, Massachusetts. Shane Grey broke the nose of our very own Matt Baker the day after when questioned about the girl, but revealed nothing. Seems like it was all in vain, Shane – the story always comes out eventually!"

_Shit_.

He wasn't waiting two hours. He was calling her right now.


	9. Got To Get You Into My Life

**Title:** _Life Is Life_

**Summary: **_Once upon a time there was a fanfic called Believe In Me. This is the revamped version.__ "Left his house at midnight, resolute and young, in search of something greater than the person he'd become." __AU Smitchie._

**Author's Note: **_I will now demonstrate how bad I am at maths: it's not four weeks until I go away, it's twenty-one days. This is Chapter 9 of about 20, and so I have at least 11 chapters left to write. Clearly if I'm going to finish it before I go away, you guys will be getting updates pretty regularly, and if I feel that I'm maintaining my writing quality throughout then I'll stick to that. If, however, I get insanely busy or if I'm writing and find that the quality of my writing is diminishing then I'm going to make the decision to not rush it and I'll finish it after my holiday. This song is one of many that are simply perfect in summing up this story – I could make a playlist of the songs I hear that I go "oh my God, this is Life Is Life right here" – but then the Beatles are perfect for having a song for every occasion. Anyway, I'm rambling. Some of this chapter will look familiar._

**Disclaimer: **_Don't own._

**Music:** _Got To Get You Into My Life – The Beatles_

**What can I do, what can I be, **

**When I'm with you I want to stay there**

**If I'm true I'll never leave **

**And if I do I know the way there**

**Ooh, then I suddenly see you,**

**Ooh, did I tell you I need you **

**Every single day of my life**

"I can't see how you can do anything but let this go, Shane. It'll all blow over eventually."

Jeff Witcombe was not a sympathetic man.

He'd had dreams of becoming a musician in the 90s, fresh out of music college and determined to make it big. He'd been rejected, over and over again by record companies who told him that his sound just wasn't what they were looking for. Boy bands were in fashion when he was trying to get his break and, as he was a few members short of fitting that criteria, nobody seemed interested. Finally he'd given up and had taken a job behind the scenes, which eventually brought him here, thirty-five years old and managing a teenage boy band.

As a result, he was not a sympathetic man. He was bitter and harsh and, if he was being completely honest, he didn't understand why these kids had made it as far as they had. From what he could see (and, having opted to keep his distance for the years he had been their manager, it was safe to say he didn't see all that much) they were entirely overrated. Arrogant, too big for their boots and not all that talented.

"Eventually isn't soon enough!"

Shane Grey, if it hasn't already been established, was a passionate man. He fought for what he believed in, albeit not in the best way, and would almost never back down from an argument. He was capable of breaking bones in order to get things to work out and when he wanted something he wanted it with every fibre of his being.

He wanted to help Mitchie. He wanted to fight to ensure that he did and he wasn't prepared to back down from this argument with his manager regarding the matter, even if he did have to break another nose in the process.

"Eventually is as soon as it's going to be."

"Not if I have anything to do with it."

"Oh, and what do you suggest then, Shane? Enlighten us with your genius plans."

Jeff sat down at this, leaning back into the fake leather of the couch and crossing his arms over his chest. The tilt of his eyebrow and the hint of a smirk on his face did nothing to suppress the anger that was threatening to rise in Shane's gut, but the teenager had no real plan to supply as an answer. He had passion and he had fists, but he didn't have the semblance of a plan, and the semblance of a plan was the only thing that was really going to help here.

"See? You have nothing. Because there is nothing. This girl will be fine, she just has to keep her head down. People will get bored."

Nate, who had until then been standing to one side deliberating whether getting involved in this battle would be a wise thing to do, interjected here. "Shane, maybe Jeff is –"

Shane cut him off, not to spite Nate – though it may have seemed that way – but to keep his momentum going, to make sure Jeff knew he wasn't just going to let this drop. Because he wasn't. "I'm not worried about her being talked about. I just don't want them saying the stuff that they're saying. We didn't do anything. She didn't do anything. It seems unfair that –"

"Unfair?" The older man in the room said, taking his turn to butt in. "You want to talk about unfair? Being lectured by a nineteen-year-old on how best to handle a PR situation is unfair. I'm not prepared to continue this conversation."

The dark-haired boy scoffed, disdain oozing from his voice as he retorted: "Well, to be honest, I don't really give a –"

"Shane." Nate spoke this time, but assuming that he was just going to be berated by him, Shane carried on without even faltering.

"– about whether you're prepared to have this –"

"Shane."

"– you honestly have no regard for what we want, do you? You just walk around like you're king of the –"

This time it was Jeff who scoffed, standing up from his sitting position. He was shorter than Shane, however, and so if he had hoped to tower over the teenager he was left disappointed. "You're lecturing _me _about walking around like I'm king of the world? Take a look in the mirr –"

"Shane."

"– at least I'm not a grown man exploiting the talents of teenagers to make his –"

"– you're walking on a thin line right now, there are thousands of kids like you that could take your place in a heartbeat –"

"Shane!"

Shane stopped, turning to face his band mate, his face a little redder than normal due to his anger. Exasperation was evident in his voice when he gave an emphatic: "_What_?"

The look on Nate Daniels' face was indistinguishable; his brow was furrowed and his lips turned almost downwards, but there was a sparkle in his eye that didn't seem to fit with the rest of the expression. "Shut up, okay? I think I have an idea."

* * *

><p>In the competition for 'Worst Day Ever', Tuesday 16th of November was taking the gold as far as Mitchie Torres was concerned.<p>

She had spent the majority of the previous night trying not to lie to her parents about things, but finding herself doing so anyway.

When they asked how her day had been, she'd said 'fine', a perfectly acceptable answer in the eyes of her mum and dad but one that did not feel right on her tongue. Because it hadn't been fine. It had been awful. She'd been nervous and jumpy all day, Rochelle Adams had been a bitch and then her name had been leaked to Hot Tunes as the girl who had spent the night on the Connect 3 tour bus. And even though she _had_ been the girl who had spent the night on the Connect 3 tour bus, she didn't want people to _know _about it. They'd all assume the wrong thing! They all _had _assumed the wrong thing.

She managed to confess a little: she told her parents that it was rumoured a girl from Cohasset High had been spotted with Connect 3 on Saturday night and also that there was a lot of media interest in it. Not meeting their eyes, Mitchie had said that she didn't know who the girl was but that it was probably just a stupid rumour anyway. Her parents agreed – they didn't keep up with the world of celebrity, especially not the world of teenage celebrities – but she could have sworn that her mother watched her a bit more carefully until the meal ended.

Shane had called her that night to promise he'd sort it out somehow, but Mitchie had kept the conversation short, ending the phone call with an assurance that she wasn't getting her hopes up about it. She knew gossip – the Sam Rodeski thing had been experience enough – and she knew that it didn't just go away, no matter how many denials were offered. People always believed the worst, the juiciest stories, and that was what this was. Even if people dropped it, they would almost certainly still believe it.

The morning had been a rush to get ready before any questions could be asked by her parents and the walk to school was peppered with people aiming their looks and points and whispers and laughs in her direction.

Mitchie hadn't done anything wrong. She'd walked home a lost pop star, and somehow found herself wrapped up in all of this. Her name was on television, on the Internet, on _Perez Hilton_. It had been a trending topic on Twitter, she'd received over 100 friend requests on Facebook… She'd walked Shane Grey back to his tour bus because he'd been lost and her whole life had been turned on its head as a result.

She was definitely grateful that her parents didn't pay any attention to social networking sites (or to Hot Tunes, Perez Hilton and the local radio stations, for that matter) but even then she knew that she wouldn't be able to keep up the secret forever.

There was a big chance that someone would go into her father's store today and mention what was happening.

There was a big chance that one of the other chefs would bring it up as her mother was whipping up a lunch order.

There was an even bigger chance that someone would turn up at the front door, seeking a quote from Mitchie herself, and as mortifying as that prospect was Mitchie couldn't help but think that at least she wouldn't have to explain the situation. It was, after all, one of Caitlin's Top Tips for avoiding getting into copious amounts of trouble; make your parents think the worst and then the truth will bring them relief and thus the punishment they dish out won't be too severe. If a reporter told them that she'd spent Saturday night with Shane Grey doing sleazy things, then at least when she told them what had really happened they would be thankful. Right?

As she took her seat in her English lesson, usually her favourite class of the day, a comment made from behind her drifted into Mitchie's earshot.

"Look, there she is. I heard that she and Shane did it in the park. How disgusting is that?"

Mitchie dropped her bag on the floor, wincing slightly at the thump it made on the plastic tiles, and slouched as far down in the chair as she could go, desperately trying to ignore the pricking in her eyes. She could not cry over this, she could not cry over this, she could not cry. Crying would not fix anything; it would only make people mock her more. The Biology breakdown of last year had proved as much and she wasn't going to be that weak again.

Mr Redford, the twenty-something English teacher who loved his subject but was less fond of the people that he had to teach it to, sauntered into the room only seconds later and a surge of relief washed over Mitchie. His presence wouldn't deter every student from making their snide remarks, but it would (hopefully, at least) deter _some _of them from pouring salt into her open wound.

"Okay, class, settle down." He placed his mug of coffee – the liquid bought from Starbucks only fifteen minutes prior, the tacky 'World's Best Teacher' cup it was in having been given to him by his girlfriend when he landed this job – onto the desk and began immediately. "Who can remember what I told you guys we'd be studying today?"

As usual, the lack of response prompted him to sigh, leaning back on the front of his desk in the way that many young teachers do in an effort to appear less like an authority figure and more like 'one of the class'. This action doesn't have the desired effect for many teachers, and Mr Redford was no exception to this. He may not have had a desk in front of him, but he also didn't get any volunteers to answer the question. So, again, he did what many other teachers will do in that situation. He picked someone at random.

"Ms Torres."

Mitchie could do nothing but reflect on her rotten luck. The fact that Mr Redford had drawn the attention of everyone in the room back to her was just a catalyst for a few more whispers to pass along the rows of students. She heard the name Shane run around the class like a current.

"Has someone stolen your tongue, Ms Torres?"

A voice from the back of the classroom interjected into the conversation, the boy's tone cocky and arrogant. "No, sir, Shane Grey will have just told her that she can't use it on anyone but him. He's real possessive like that, I hear."

Mitchie was speaking before Dan Freeman's voice had faded away, her voice harsh as she answered the question. "Emily Dickinson. We're studying Emily Dickinson."

"That's correct. Did everyone do the reading I set? The poem was 'Wild Nights', so what can you all tell me about it? Rochelle?"

The blonde tossed her hair before replying, giggling with one of her cronies as she did so. "Why don't you ask Mitchie, sir? I heard she re-enacted it with brilliance on Saturday."

Mr Redford's sigh of agitation was audible, but he again chose to ignore the speaker and address the rest of the class. "Does anyone have anything insightful to contribut – is that somebody's cell phone I hear?"

It was at that moment that Mitchie came to the conclusion that she must have been something awful in a previous life; the ringing cell phone was hers and the ringtone (which had been especially selected to represent a certain person) was the last one she wanted to hear at this very moment in time. She had just managed to fish it out of her bag and was seconds away from turning it off when the hands of her English teacher swooped in and took it off her.

She knew what he was going to do before he did it, but her "Please, no, don't" of protest fell on deaf ears. He had answered and crooned a hello into it before the words had finished falling from her lips.

"Mitchie is in an English lesson just now, but seeing as she seemed to think it was appropriate to leave her phone on, I'd be happy to take a message."

Silently, Mitchie prayed for her English teacher to have enough sense to not mention who was on the other end of the phone. If he would just hang up and not say anything about the fact that –

"Well, Mr Grey. Not everyone is a rock star and some of us have to be in classes. Ms Torres included."

Damn.

The rest of the students immediately began buzzing with the new information, whispering amongst each other like it was a mass game of Chinese whispers where the rules were that everyone had to talk at once.

"Oh my God is that really him?"

"Are they dating or something?"

"No way is Shane Grey calling _her_. It's probably just someone pretending to be him."

Mitchie looked up at her teacher, her words a plea; she was not above begging right now. "Mr Redford, please just give me the phone. Please?"

The teacher glanced around the room, well aware of the comments that had been made, well aware of the fact that they were tantamount to bullying and feeling a tidal wave of pity for the girl in front of him as a result. It wasn't in correspondence with the rules at all, but he simply couldn't deny Mitchie the conversation – so it was with a sigh that he handed the phone back to its owner. "Two minutes. I have a lesson to teach."

Mitchie shot a look of gratitude at her teacher, closing her eyes to shut out the gawping and jealous looks from her classmates before she spoke quietly. "Shane?"

"Mitchie? I'm so sorry, I didn't know when lunch was..."

"Well... not now, that's for sure."

"I'll be quick. I just wanted to know: what time does school end?"

This question was met with a pause as the girl processed what this question could possibly mean. Why would he have to call her during the school day to find out when it ended? Why not just call at a time where she was guaranteed to not be at school the way he had the night before?

"Three o'clock. Why?"

"Oh... no reason." Shane cleared his throat, wondering if he was making Mitchie quite as suspicious as he suspected he was. "Anyway! I guess I have to let you get back to English. Say hi to your teacher for me. He seems to think I'm a rock star."

Her thoughts were momentarily dragged away from the messy situation, away from trying to work out what on Earth this boy was planning, and she smiled slightly at Shane's words. "You've obviously brainwashed him, pop star."

"Oh yeah, because I have nothing better to do with my time than brainwash your English teachers..."

Mr Redford cleared his throat from where he was writing out the poem on the board, not so subtly telling Mitchie that her two minutes allocated time was up.

"I really have to go..."

"I know. Okay, say that I'm sorry for disturbing the lesson, that I hope your education does not suffer as a result of this phone call..." Shane trailed off, and for a moment Mitchie thought he had hung up. He then decided to finish his sentence, however, and Mitchie almost wished he hadn't. "…and I'll see you at three o'clock."

Her eyes snapped open and she sat bolt upright, forgetting that she was in her English class, forgetting that she had an audience, forgetting that her two minutes talking time had been up at least twenty seconds ago. "What do you mean, see me at three o'clock?"

But Shane Grey had hung up, leaving no answer to her question; just a beep as her phone told her the call had been terminated.

There was silence for a few more seconds while both the class and Mitchie tried to process what they had just heard, and then:

"Well. Now that Ms Torres has planned her hot date with a rock star... what do we know about Emily Dickinson?"

* * *

><p>The caretaker at Cohasset High had been working there since the early 70s. A sixty-three year old man, he had seen many a crazy thing – from the kid who had gotten himself stuck between the bleachers to the girl who had decided to scale the flagpole for the purposes of Physics research, only to reach the top and find that she was scared of heights.<p>

The craziest thing that he ever witnessed in his time at Cohasset High, however, happened on Tuesday 16th of November at precisely three o'clock. The bell went, the students vacated their classes, and suddenly, from the confines of his tiny office just inside the front doors, he heard the screaming begin.

Thinking that something terrible was happening, he grabbed the baseball bat that he kept by the side of his filing cabinet and inched the door open with his foot, peering out into the hallway as surreptitiously as he could. Students were running by him towards the front doors, hysteria in their eyes, and he immediately turned to look in the direction they were running away from, expecting to see something horrific.

There was nothing of the sort.

Upon seeing one girl, a short brunette whose face he had seen around school before, walk fairly calmly to the exit he came to the conclusion that nothing too catastrophic could have happened, if only because of her reaction, and so he turned his attention to the direction in which the majority of the students were running. The screams were happening for a reason, after all, and he felt compelled to find out what that reason was.

So he followed them. Forcing his way through the crowd of students – mainly girls, he noticed, now that he was paying closer attention – gathered at the top of the stone entrance steps, he found a vantage point from where he could see everything that was going on. But even despite the fact that he could see everything that was playing out in front of him, he still couldn't fathom it.

Three boys were climbing down the steps of a large bus, the side of which was emblazoned with a spray-painted guitar and the words Connect 3 in big letters. The appearance of these boys seemed to be causing many of the spectators to go into a frenzy – something that reminded the old man of the Beatlemania of the 1960s – and he could only assume that the screaming was happening for this very reason.

But – and although the caretaker didn't know it, this was the question on the mind of every single person congregated in the parking lot – _why_? Why did these boys garner this sort of reception and _why were they here in the first place_?

Just as he was pondering this, the brunette girl who had passed him in the hallway reached the top of the stone steps, her eyes wide and an expression of disbelief painted over her face. And, as though she had some kind of magnetism, the area fell silent and the gaze of every person gathered there fell upon her. Including the gaze of Shane Grey.

It was like the parting of the Red Sea; suddenly, with what seemed like very little organisation, a pathway extended from the steps to where Shane was standing, the students lining the way not even bothering to disguise the looks of immense interest on their faces.

"Mitchie."

The fact that that one word was heard so easily was a testament to how eerily silent the scene had become. Shane hadn't been speaking particularly loudly, and yet Mitchie Torres heard her name clear as day, the soundwaves drifting past over a hundred other students to reach her.

Now she was expected to reply, she knew that, but couldn't form any kind of coherent sentence in her mind. In all honesty, when Shane had said that he'd see her at three o'clock, she'd assumed that he'd be at her home, waiting for her. She had assumed that the three o'clock was an approximate time stamp, not exact. She hadn't been anticipating this kind of scenario. She wasn't sure she could cope with this kind of scenario.

But people were waiting for a reply, and she could see a ripple of excitement pass through the crowd in front of her at the thought that she might not be able to come up with one. Of course, they wanted her to fail. They wanted her to look an idiot.

Well, she wasn't going to look an idiot.

Forcing a laugh, Mitchie kept her eyes trained firmly on the boy who was a few hundred yards in front of her. "Are you always so punctual?"

"Almost never," Shane said, a grin forming on his face effortlessly. "But when Nate's in charge…"

She faked a look of comprehension, letting the word that she uttered – "Right." – to leave her lips in an elongated form.

Silence passed between them once more, and the buzz of conversation from the rest of the student body increased in volume, dragging Mitchie's attention away from Shane. As she looked around at her peers she caught them all looking back at her, muttering – some mutinously and some in awe – and suddenly she felt like she was going to cry again, though she wasn't sure why.

A scuffle behind her caught her attention, and Mitchie turned her head to see what was going on there. Her best friend, having just come out of the school building, fought to get through the masses of people to her side, linking their hands as soon as she was in touching distance. The look of reassurance in Caitlin Gellar's eyes was enough to banish the tears from her own, and she only looked away from the comfort when Shane's voice rang out once more.

"I, uh, came… I came to give you… we need to talk to you."

It wasn't often that Shane Grey stumbled on his words, but he had never been in this kind of situation before. He still wasn't entirely sure that this plan would work, or that she'd even agree to it, but Nate had been right when he'd said that it was the only thing they had. They had to try it. Even if it did mean he was sleeping on the tour bus couch for the foreseeable future.

"All of us," Nate added. He could sense Shane's hesitation, his nervousness, just with one sideways glance at him, and decided that at least one of them had to be articulate. "But preferably not in front of an audience."

"Getting onto that bus got me into all this trouble in the first place," Mitchie said, and for many of the people in attendance she was confirming the event for the first time.

A few screams came from the crowd, but most were too riveted in the scene, and Mitchie wondered what that must be like. To be a spectator. Even to be in the shoes of Caitlin, who had been very much involved in keeping the secret but who hadn't been involved in everything. She could still hide under a veil of anonymity. Not for the first time, Mitchie wondered why it had to happen to her. Odd, really, when she had been wishing for a life more exciting than the one she had for years, but the grass is always greener. What was that saying? Be careful what you wish for, it might come true?

"_Hopefully_," Nate began, emphasising the word appropriately. "It'll get you out of it this time."

And without even really being a proposition, the request was set. Connect 3's reason for being in the parking lot of Cohasset High had been almost fully revealed and now the question on everybody's minds was whether or not Mitchie Torres was going to take it. Was she going to go with them? Was she going to get on that bus again?

There was a big part of her that didn't want to. A _big _part. Her brain was telling her that getting on that bus would ensure that this entire thing didn't blow over for a very long time. Getting on that bus would, effectively, be the end of her life as she knew it.

But Caitlin was squeezing her hand, telling her that she, at least, was there no matter what.

Nate and Jason were watching her with ease, with confidence, not nervous about this plan at all.

Shane was staring into her very being, his expression uneasy but his eyes… his eyes telling her that this was what he wanted.

And her heart was telling her that, yes, getting on the bus would be the end of life as she knew it. But that she was okay with that. That she wanted that. That this was an offer she could not refuse.

Mitchie Torres turned to her best friend, pulling her into a hug. "I'll call you later, Cait, okay?"

"You'd better, or I swear to God…"

The threat was left hanging, the smile on Caitlin's face proving (as though she needed to prove it) that nothing would ever come of the threat, but also that nothing would ever need to. Mitchie would call, of course she would.

And then Mitchie Torres hopped down the front steps at the entrance of Cohasset High, her folders still clutched to her chest, the gaze of every student (and, let's face it, every teacher too) watching her, most of their expressions wistful, her heart pounding out of her chest. She smiled as Shane fell into step beside her, and smiled a little more as Nate and Jason did the same. And then she ascended the steps of the Connect 3 tour bus for the second time in four days.

The first time she'd done so, on Saturday night, she'd been totally unprepared for the onslaught of rumours that would follow her. The second time, on Tuesday afternoon, she was prepared. She knew her way. She was ready.

Well… almost.


	10. All Day And All Of The Night

**Title:** _Life Is Life_

**Summary: **_Once upon a time there was a fanfic called Believe In Me. This is the revamped version.__ "Left his house at midnight, resolute and young, in search of something greater than the person he'd become." __AU Smitchie._

**Author's Note: **_So, I have a confession to make. I almost didn't bother writing this chapter today. Only when I berated myself for thinking selfishly and being so thirsty for other people to approve my writing did I get my act together and sit down and write this. No, I didn't get any reviews for the last chapter, but why should I let that demotivate me? This is __my__ writing and __my__ project and having people say nice things is a bonus, not a given. It's a good attitude to have; I like it. It does, however, mean I'm not going to rush this. I'm not going to get it finished before I go away on the 7__th__ because I don't want to. I want to be a writer who looks back on this story and is proud of it as opposed to a writer who gets a job finished faster. If you do have something to say, if you have an observation, if you just want to chat, press that little button at the end of the chapter. If you don't, I'm going to presume you like it. Also, I've added a playlist on YouTube for all the songs I've used and will use in the future for chapter inspiration, and you can find a link to that in my profile if you're interested._

**Disclaimer: **_Don't own._

**Music:** _All Day And All Of The Night – The Kinks_

**I'm not content to be with you in the daytime **

**Girl, I want to be with you all of the time **

**The only time I feel alright is by your side **

**Girl, I want to be with you all of the time **

**All day and all of the night**

"They want you to _what_?"

Such was the surprise in Caitlin Gellar's voice, it erupted from the phone at such a volume that Mitchie had to double check she hadn't hit the speaker button with her ear. She hadn't.

After checking that, she shot a look over her shoulder to see if any of the four men also on the bus – Connect 3 and their manager, a bitter looking man who didn't seem enamoured with the plan that had been devised by his three wards – were eavesdropping on her conversation. Three of them were heavily involved in a discussion of their own, but Mitchie had a sneaking suspicion that although Shane was pretending to participate in what the other guys were talking about, he was, in fact, listening to her.

"They want me to join them on the tour," Mitchie repeated, most of her attention still taken up looking at the dark haired boy on the other side of the room, trying to catch him out.

Shane did not look over in her direction, although she couldn't be certain whether that was because he was innocent or because he knew that she was waiting for him to look. The slight smirk on his face was enough to suggest that it was the latter. The sneak.

"They want you to…" Caitlin sounded faint, her voice an abnormally high pitch. "Mitchie, you are the luckiest person in the entire world. _Connect 3 _want _you _to go on tour with them. I can't even…"

Dragging her attention away from Shane Grey, Mitchie turned her back to the others again and, with a sigh, let the problem at hand take over her mind once more. "There's just one problem."

"I see no problem. There is no problem. You're making problems where there aren't any."

"No, Caitlin, it's a genuine problem."

"I bet I don't think it is."

"How do I get my parents to agree?"

Caitlin was silent for a few seconds, something that Mitchie initially took to mean that she was defeated. It surprised her slightly – Caitlin was almost never defeated; for as long as Mitchie had known her she could form a plan of action for even the stickiest of all situations, even if the strategies that they ended up with were haphazard and (occasionally) dangerous. Still, there was a first time for everything, and this _was _a rather large problem. As far as Mitchie had been able to work out, there was no solution. This was one thing that actually _was _impossible, no matter what any life coach said about nothing falling into that category.

"Exactly."

It was amazing, really, that Connect 3 had even given her a second thought at all. They were here to try and do some kind of damage control on her life, they were here to support her, and nobody was making them do anything of the sort. They were asking her to come on tour with them for God's sake. Caitlin might have been exaggerating precisely how fortunate Mitchie was, but there could be no doubting that she was lucky.

There was only one way that Mitchie could see this panning out, however, and it involved her being back at school tomorrow because her parents didn't understand things at all, while Connect 3 moved on with their lives and didn't give her third thought. This had been her second thought and they wouldn't bother again if she didn't –

"You don't."

Mitchie was so absorbed in her train of thought she almost didn't even hear Caitlin speak, and at first she didn't understand. Backtracking in her mind to the last thing they'd said, the meaning of Cait's two words dawned on her slowly – but even then, as she put two and two together, she had to ask the other girl to repeat herself, to make sure that she'd heard her correctly. It was, after all, a ridiculous proposal. "What?"

"You don't get them to agree. You go. We'll say that you're staying with me."

"Caitlin." The scepticism (and disbelief) in Mitchie's voice was obvious. She almost added the words 'are you serious?', but her best friend had already started to reply, making it perfectly clear that she was very serious.

"No, it'll work. We'll say you're staying with me."

"There's no way they're going to believe I'm staying with you for the entire fortnight, Caitlin."

"Yes, they will. We'll make them believe it."

Caitlin spoke with such conviction, and every other time she showed this kind of passion, Mitchie gave in pretty easily. A lot of the time she found herself genuinely believing what her best friend was telling her. A lot of the time Caitlin convinced her and she didn't even question herself. This time, in all honesty, the sole thought running through Mitchie's mind was that Caitlin Gellar had gone mad.

There were so many flaws in this scheme; so many gaping errors that would ensure it would never, ever be feasible that Mitchie almost didn't know where to start. Almost.

"And what about when they come to see me and I'm not there?"

"You're out."

"Without you?"

"Then I'll be out too," the girl on the end of the phone said, as though it were the most obvious answer in the world. "I'll look out of the window, and if it's them, I won't answer the door."

"And what about your parents?"

"They're going away tomorrow, remember? We'll just say that you're keeping me company until they get back."

Mitchie Torres sighed, perfectly aware that one of them was going to have to cave on this issue and perfectly aware that Caitlin had a reputation for never caving, even when she was wrong. "Caitlin…"

But Caitlin, knowing her best friend too well and adamant that she was right, cut her off immediately. "Look, if they're going to say no –"

"They are."

"You can't not go. You cannot not go," she said, emphatically. Then her tone turned more matter-of-fact: "So you'll have to lie about it."

"I don't think that's a good idea…"

No, she didn't think it was a good idea. In fact, she _knew _it wasn't a good idea. And yet there was something stopping Mitchie just ending the conversation. She could just hang up. She could put her foot down. She could insist that there was no way she was getting herself entangled in a web of lies and let that be that. She could do all of those things – but she didn't. And that in itself was more telling than any of the words that were falling from her lips.

"Mitchie. Are you or are you not eighteen?"

"Well, I am, but –"

"And, consequently, are you or are you not a legal adult?"

"I suppose, but –"

"And, consequently, are you or are you not allowed to make your own decisions?"

"But –"

"You don't need parental consent to do this, Mitchie."

"Well, maybe not, but –"

Caitlin stopped, exhaling dramatically. "What do you keep 'but-ing' about?"

Mitchie paused, the variety of excuses that she'd been all ready to give wiped from her mind with the logical argument that her best friend was presenting.

"Well, I'm not allowed to do everything, am I? Not legally."

Another dramatic sigh, this one followed by a patronising air of speaking: "This is not a case of buying alcohol, Mitchie. This is going on a tour for two weeks with a band. There is nothing illegal about that. Unless, of course, they are giving you alcohol. In which case, as long as you don't tell anyone and bring some back for me…"

"Caitlin."

"Come on, Mitchie. You have to. You _have _to. And I will lie through my teeth for you. It'll work. I promise."

And there it was: the lawyer's closing argument. This case had no jury, just Mitchie playing the role of the judge, playing the role that made the final decision.

It was wrong; Mitchie knew it was. She knew that the best thing to do would be to get Shane to drop her back to her house and ask her parents to let her go. And then, if they didn't let her, she would wave the Connect 3 tour bus away and carry on with her mundane existence in the knowledge that it had been her parents who had put their foot down. She _knew _that as far as options went, that was the safest one, that was the one that the good girl Mitchie Torres would go for. Should go for.

"You're never going to get this opportunity again, Mitchie," Caitlin added, sensing weakness. "If you don't take it, you'll regret it."

It was wrong; Mitchie knew it was. But she also knew that Caitlin was right.

If she did go home, if her parents did say no, that was it. She'd never get this chance again, because chances like this one came along once in a blue moon.

If she lied, however, then she'd be able to go. She'd be able to experience it. She'd be in massive trouble if she was ever found out, but at least she wouldn't have _missed _out. At least she'd sit in her room until she was twenty-eight reflecting on the good times she had had instead of going back to school for the rest of the year and thinking about the good times she could have had.

There was only one thing for it.

"Fine."

* * *

><p>"Are you sure you don't want me to come with you?" Shane asked, standing at the top of the steps to the tour bus. "I can explain –"<p>

Mitchie shook her head, not vehemently but with enough decisiveness to make Shane trail off. "No, it's okay. They… they won't agree. It's not going to happen. So the best thing is if I…"

It wasn't a good omen that she couldn't even say the word, nor look in the eye of someone who was party to the scheme. Mitchie could not lie to people in general, let alone her parents. It was why they thought she was such a good girl. It was why they got along so well. She was about to destroy all that in one fell swoop.

"Lie?"

She didn't even have to look up to envision the smirk on Shane Grey's face and she couldn't help feel a stab of annoyance. It was alright for him, she supposed. He was a practised liar, could lie to the entire world without even batting an eyelid or succumbing to a blush. He could stand there on his tour bus and smirk at her because this entire situation wouldn't _be _a situation for him.

"Yes," she said, summoning up every ounce of courage she had and meeting his gaze with what she hoped was confidence. "Lie."

Shane didn't say anything for a few seconds – mostly because he couldn't think of a single word to say – but maintained eye contact with relative ease. He was the one to break it though (for some reason his mind was staying uncharacteristically blank while he was looking at her so intently), and he shrugged. "I'm not sure it's the best idea, personally. Lying. But you know your parents better than me, and I genuinely want you to come with us… so do what you have to."

Whatever Mitchie had been expecting in reply, that wasn't it. Sure, she knew that he'd been somewhat misrepresented in the media, she knew that he wasn't the colossal bad boy that everyone said he was, but she had a hard time believing he was completely angelic. Yet here he was, falling on the opposite side of the argument to her best friend, falling on the same side of the argument that she'd been on before she'd been convinced otherwise.

She wasn't going to listen to him, but she wouldn't have denied her surprise at him being face of the angel on her shoulder.

Spinning on her heels – she couldn't bring herself to say anything else to Shane for fear of him saying even more on the subject of lying to her parents and sending her back into a state of moral dilemma – Mitchie walked down the street (she had, of course, asked them to park out of sight) to her house, forcing herself to walk steadily and confidently, like she had nothing to hide.

She had nothing to hide. She had nothing to hide.

Her key was in her bag, and she located it with trembling hands, letting herself into her house and calling out to make her presence known.

Nobody answered.

"Hello?" She tried again, stepping into the hallway and shutting the door quietly behind her. "Is anyone home?"

No answer.

A wave of panic washed over Mitchie. This had not been something that she'd anticipated; she'd been sure that when she got home there'd be somebody in the house to give her fake story to. She didn't know how else she was going to get away with this.

She couldn't just leave without telling anybody, could she? She couldn't just pack up some things and go, that would be awful.

Could she leave a note? Was it appropriate to just leave a note saying 'gone to Caitlin's, back in two weeks! Call me!" on it?

Oh, God, she was not equipped for this sort of scenario.

Without even realising she was doing so, Mitchie began to talk to herself, pacing back and forth down the stretch of hallway and waving her hands around as she was doing so.

"This is all just some crazy dream, it has to be. The past four days have just been crazy, too crazy, stuff this crazy doesn't happen to people as normal and boring as me. I'm hallucinating. I'm asleep. I'm _in a coma. _That basketball that Sam Rodeski threw at me didn't just give me a bruise, it knocked me out, and ever since then I've been comatose and have just _invented _my life. Connect 3 aren't really here, I'm not really going on tour with them, this is all a figment of my insane comatose imagina –"

"If you want my opinion," a voice from behind her rang out and made her yelp in surprise. She turned around, hand to her chest, and glared at Shane, who was unperturbed and still speaking. "The idea that your life is a figment of your insane comatose imagination is _much _crazier than the stuff that's happened over the last few days. And anyone who thinks otherwise is certainly not normal. Or boring, for that matter."

Mitchie evened out her breathing, taking her hand away from her chest to run it through her hair. "What are you doing here?"

Shane shrugged. He hadn't really worked that part out himself yet. He'd watched as she walked to her house and, for some reason, had been unable to prevent himself from tracing her steps. Now that he thought about it properly, he had to count himself lucky that Mitchie's parents weren't in – something that he managed to deduce fairly easy, due to the fact that the two cars that had been on the driveway on Saturday night were not there at that moment. Had he just walked in when she was in the middle of her elaborate lie he would have ruined things completely.

This thought had occurred to Mitchie too, and she was just about to scold him for it when she figured that she could hardly get annoyed at him for messing up something he hadn't messed up. That wouldn't make any sense at all. He'd think she was crazy. Or craz_ier_.

"If you don't want to come, Mitchie…"

The truth was, all Shane had been able to understand of the scene he'd walked in on, was that Mitchie thought this entire thing was insane. She thought it was insane that she'd met him, that she'd slept on the tour bus (in his bed, but he needed to stop thinking about that part so much), that she'd had to make a discreet escape out of the window to avoid waiting paparazzi, that she'd gotten his phone number, that her name had then been leaked to Hot Tunes anyway, that they'd invited them on tour with them… He didn't blame her. It _was _pretty insane.

But he hadn't even stopped to think about the fact that she might not want to accept their invitation. He'd assumed, like both Nate and Jason had assumed, that she would jump at the chance. Not many people wouldn't jump at the chance. And yet when they had explained everything to her, she'd been remarkably cool about it. She'd agreed, yes, but she hadn't agreed emphatically. And, combined with her weird ranting, that lack of excitement was enough to make Shane think that maybe this wasn't what she wanted.

"No!" The enthusiasm that had been absent was suddenly alive in her eyes, sparking to a great height initially and then fading to a flicker as she continued. "No. I want to. I do. I just… I don't know how to… to _cope _with it all. But I do. Want to."

"Even though we're void of all passion and soul?" Shane quipped, covering up the inexplicable surge of relief he felt at her insistence with a jibe.

"Despite that," Mitchie shot back, taking just a second to smile warmly at him before focusing her attention back to what she was going to do now. "Can I just leave a note? Is leaving a note acceptable?"

Shane Grey had no clue about the accepted ways to tell your parents you were going away for two weeks, but he did have one nugget of wisdom on the matter: "Honestly, Mitch, you'd be leaving them a note full of lies anyway, so I'm not entirely sure it even matters."

Those words earned him another glare. "Shut up, Grey. And nobody calls me Mitch."

"I think I just did?"

"You're so annoying."

"I know."

Mitchie sighed heavily, stepping around Shane so that she could climb the stairs to her room. However she informed her parents that she would be away from the house for two weeks, she'd need to get clothes sorted. She could deliberate the pros and cons of leaving a note versus leaving a voicemail message while she packed a bag.

What she didn't bargain on was Shane following her up the steps and into her bedroom. He stood in the doorway, his eyes scanning every surface: her purple walls, her Beatles posters, the pink feather boa that was strung around the mirror…

"You don't have any of us," he commented, as she pulled a dark blue duffel bag from the very top shelf of her closet.

She could only presume he meant posters, and so she didn't even look away from selecting clothes to take with her as she replied. "It was you guys or John, Paul, George and Ringo."

"I'd like to think I'm a bit better looking."

Mitchie snorted, pulling a long grey cardigan from its hanger and shoving it into the bag. "Completely deluded."

Entering the room and walking over to stand in front of the posters properly, Shane cocked his head to one side as he took in the faces of the four Beatles. He listened to their music, of course he did, which rock star didn't listen to the Beatles? He wouldn't have proclaimed them his favourites, however, and he wouldn't have been able to tell anyone what they looked like in any real detail – besides what everyone knew, of course.

"I wouldn't say _completely _deluded," he remarked, giving each man in the photo a once-over.

Leaving her packing duties for a moment, Mitchie went over to stand next to him, also letting her gaze slide from one Beatle to the next. "Okay, you know what? I'll give you Ringo. You're a bit better looking than Ringo. And George, because as amazing as he was, there are more than a few pictures where he's not entirely attractive… but John and Paul? No way are you better looking than John and Paul."

"I'll take what I can get," Shane said with a laugh, turning away from the poster to watch as she made her way back to her closet. "I have no idea whether to be offended or not."

"Don't be offended," she said, pulling two pairs of jeans out of her closet at once and jamming them both inside the nearly full duffel bag. "Not many people can compare."

"So, in the competition for Mitchie Torres' heart, they're the ones a guy has to beat then?"

He didn't know what made him say it, and he didn't even know what it meant when the words did come out. Not much made Shane Grey embarrassed, but that statement definitely did. Once it was out there, there was no taking it back. He could tell her not to answer. He could make some kind of joke about how weird that question was, how he didn't know what had come over him. He could try and get out of it in a number of ways, but he didn't do anything.

"I guess so."

Mitchie overanalysed his words for just a second. The thought did pop into her head – is Shane Grey saying he wants to compete for my heart? What does that even mean? – but she dispelled it almost instantly. They were friends. And them being friends was not going to work if she was just going to fantasise about him being madly in love with her whenever he said anything.

Still, the awkwardness of the moment had settled over them and, to make it a little more awkward, Mitchie had to make her way over to her drawers – which were, coincidentally, next to where Shane was standing – so that she could grab some underwear to pack. Shane, to his credit, did avert his eyes when he realised what she was doing, but it didn't really help matters. He just hoped it wouldn't be like this – awkward – for the next fortnight.

A call of hello from downstairs broke the discomfort of the situation, making both people in Mitchie's bedroom freeze at the thought of one of her parents catching them both upstairs. No, they weren't doing anything untoward, but it wouldn't be very easy to lie your way out of Shane Grey being in your bedroom.

"Hello?" came the voice again, and the sight of Mitchie breathing a sigh of relief calmed Shane.

"Caitlin? I'm up here!" she replied, heading into the ensuite bathroom to collect the toiletries she'd need for the trip.

To say that she was packing lightly would be an understatement - Shane was almost impressed that a girl was able to fit everything she might need for two weeks on tour with a rock band into one bag. Then again, he was also in a position to declare that he could buy her anything she might forget, even if he had deduced that Mitchie was the type of girl to refuse such a proposition.

A girl (that, oddly, Shane recognised, though he couldn't quite place it) barged into the room, stopping dead when she saw that her best friend wasn't alone.

"Oh. Wow. Ha." Monosyllabic words were, as much as she hated herself for it, all Caitlin could manage for a few seconds as she took in the sight before her. Shane Grey was in Mitchie Torres' bedroom. And, alright, sure, there were all the connotations of them being in a _bedroom_ to consider, but it was really just amazing that he was standing there. It made it really real, really true.

"Cait?" Mitchie said, exiting the bathroom as she shoved a smaller bag into the duffel with one hand, waving the other to drag the attention of her friend away from the pop star in the room. "What are you doing here?"

Snapping out of her mini-trance, Caitlin swivelled her body around to face Mitchie, morphing back into her normal self within a second. "I came to help with the lie. In case your mom asked how you were getting to mine, offered to give you a lift there, you know how parental units can be with their incessant want to be helpful when really you just want them to go the hell away."

"They're not here," Mitchie shrugged. "I figured I could think about the best plan of action from here while I packed."

"Good idea, yes." Caitlin nodded, folding her arms across her chest. "And have you come to any sort of conclusion?"

Mitchie hesitated, the grimace on her face telling the other girl everything she needed to know. "Well… not really?"

"I don't know how you'd have managed in life without me, Mitchie."

"Probably better, actually, considering all the situations you've gotten me into."

"Oh, don't give me that. Have I or have I not gotten you out of all of them?"

"No! The Pancake Disaster of '05 earned me a month's grounding, despite my explanations of how it was completely and utterly your fault that Gemma Harvey ended up in hospital."

Caitlin sighed, rolling her eyes. "Have I or have I not gotten you out of _most _of them?"

"Most is not all."

"Most is most."

"_Really?_" Sarcasm dripped from Mitchie's tone."I thought most meant only a few."

"No." The smirk on Caitlin's face informed the other girl that she'd picked up the sarcasm with ease, but was going to be annoying anyway. "God, Mitchie."

Shane watched the exchange with amusement, his eyes flickering from Mitchie to her best friend as they threw words at one another. It definitely felt familiar, though he hadn't a clue why.

"I think I've got everything I need," Mitchie said, glancing around the room as though something essential might launch itself off whatever shelf it had been placed on and into her arms, pleading with her not to leave it behind. No such thing happened, obviously, and she tightened the strings on the duffel bag. "I should leave a note then, yeah?"

Caitlin made her way out of the room first, talking over her shoulder as she began to descend the stairs of the Torres house. "Yeah, I would. And then they can call you later and speak to you."

Shane and Mitchie reached the bedroom door at the same time, both of them stopping dead to let the other through. Shane – feeling like it would be the gentlemanly thing to do, and he hadn't lost all of his manners – gestured for her to go first at the same time as Mitchie – feeling like it was only fair, he was the guest in her house – gestured for him to go first. Both took another step forward, heeding the prompt that the other had given them. To an observer, it would have looked like a very awkward dance. To the participants it felt like an awkward dance.

"Seriously," Shane said, realising pretty quickly that the only way they were going to get this to work properly was if one of them spoke about it. "You go."

For a second, he thought Mitchie was going to protest – and, truthfully, she had been planning on it – but a moment later she was stepping past him and following her best friend down the steps, leaving him to trail behind her.

She entered the kitchen only a few seconds after Caitlin had, but found the light brunette already at the island in the middle, writing on a piece of paper in front of her and biting her lip in concentration.

"What are you doing?"

"Writing a sick note."

"A sick note?"

"You'll need something to explain why you're not at school."

"So I have to lie about that too?"

"Mitchie. Yes. Of course. God, you're a complete amateur."

The look that Caitlin received in reply to this was one that can only be described as a 'duh' expression. Of _course _Mitchie was a complete amateur when it came to this situation; she never lied to her parents. It gave her heart palpitations even thinking about it, truth be told. She might be one of the youngest people to have a heart attack as a result of this. She might _die._

Caitlin could only sigh at her friend, her eyes disappearing into the back of her head as she did so. "Yes. You have to lie about that too. I'm writing that you don't feel up to coming to school in light of things that have happened. I'm also going to say that you're staying at my house to ensure your privacy is maintained and that if the school want to get in touch with you then they're to call you there. And also that they're to let me take your work to you, which isn't really true but will just make it that bit more authentic."

Mitchie felt slightly sick, sinking down into one of the stools next to her friend. "Oh, God. I don't know if I can do this."

"Yes, you can. You have to do this."

"It's turning into this huge web of lies, Caitlin."

"But I'm the one managing this great big web of lies. It'll be fine. Do you have anything with your mom's signature on it? I need to forge it."

Shane leant against the frame of the kitchen door, watching Mitchie carefully as she grabbed a letter that her mother had signed for work and placed it in front of her friend. She didn't look very composed at all, rather completely terrified, but he didn't feel like it was his place at all to tell her how she should be doing things. He hadn't had a relationship with his own parents for years. He didn't know how to maintain family affairs.

"Right, okay. Done that. Now, what are we going to say to your mom and dad about you going away?"

Caitlin folded the paper she'd just written on and slid it into the pocket of her jeans and pulled another piece of paper forwards, putting it – and a pen – in front of Mitchie.

"I have no idea."

"Just put that my parents are going away and that you're going to stay with me."

"_Hi guys_," Mitchie said, dictating the words that she was writing. "_Caitlin's parents have gone away for a week or two_ –"

"Vague, I like it."

"– _and she wants me to stay with her until they get back. I've got everything I need! Will call you tonight. Mitchie_."

"See? That wasn't so – what's the matter?"

Her last question was directed at Shane Grey, the observer, who had just darted into the kitchen with a worried expression on his face. He opened his mouth to speak, but didn't actually have to form any words, because her question was indirectly answered by something else. Some_one _else.

"Mitchie!"

Connie Torres' voice came from the hallway, the rustle of grocery bags giving away where she'd been. The three teenagers heard the woman drop her keys on the table and the only logical succession to that action would be to come through to the kitchen. Where Mitchie, Caitlin and Shane Grey were.

The first person in that sentence jumped up from her sitting position and, grabbing Shane by the arm, threw open the back door and pushed him out of it.

"There's a gate that goes round to the front garden. The bolt's a bit rusty, but it should be okay. I'll be at the bus in a minute."

All of that was muttered very quickly at him, and before Shane really had time to process it, the door was being shut in his face.

While Mitchie had been dealing with that, Caitlin had screwed up the letter and had pushed the document that she'd copied the signature from back to the other side of the island, hoping that it was in relatively the same position as it had been in before.

Mitchie's mother walked into the kitchen just as her daughter turned away from the (now closed) back door and Caitlin sat back in her chair, looking up to find both girls smiling at her in (what they hoped was) a relaxed and easy way. She raised her eyebrows – which seemed like a bad start – but the wide grin that crossed her face after just a moment was more reassuring.

"Hey, Caitlin! What are you girls doing?"

The girl that was standing resisted the urge to look at her best friend, resisted the urge to say that Caitlin should answer the question, resisted the urge to blurt out _everything. _"Uh, well, actually…"

"Yes?" Connie Torres put the groceries onto the island in the middle of the kitchen and stood, waiting for Mitchie to tell her what was going on.

Now, Connie wasn't a suspicious person, despite how she may have come across. She was loving and warm and generally believed the best of everyone. She would confess in a heartbeat that she was one of 'those' parents, one of those ones that believe their child can do no wrong – and that she was justified in being one of those parents because Mitchie _didn't _do wrong. If Mitchie said that she was doing something, then that was what Mitchie was doing. The reason she appeared to question it wasn't because she didn't think she had the truth, but rather because she wanted to know every detail so that she could decide how worried she had to be.

"Caitlin's parents have gone away for a week or two, and so she came to see if I'd go and stay with her until they get back. Is that alright?"

Mitchie was surprised at how easy she found the words to say, how unwavering her voice was as she lied through her teeth to the woman who trusted her unconditionally. She had to do this. She had to do this. She had to do this.

"Well, can't Caitlin just come and stay here?" Connie asked, as she started to put the groceries away in their correct cupboards.

If anyone had doubted how pathetic Mitchie was at lying, the way in which she panicked upon hearing that suggestion would have proved it. In fact, had she not had the professional liar that was Caitlin Gellar by her side, she'd have crashed and burned at that question alone. She had no idea what to say, and actually found herself thinking the words 'well, why _couldn't _Caitlin stay here' before she remembered that Caitlin's parents hadn't gone away yet and that she was sneaking off on tour with Connect 3 and that Shane Grey was just outside the back door.

"I'm looking after the dog, Connie," Caitlin said, a breath of nonchalance in her voice. "And I know that Michael's allergic to dogs…"

Understanding seeped across Connie's face and she nodded, catching sight of the duffel bag that was leaning up against the counter. "Well, I see you've already packed, so how can I say no to that level of preparedness?"

"It was just in case, you know. So that's alright? Really?" Mitchie was aware that she was probably pressing it a bit too hard, but she almost couldn't believe that they were getting away with it. Her mother was just buying it, no trace of suspicion.

Before Mitchie's mom could reply, a crunching noise came from the vicinity of the house – somewhere outside, but somewhere close. A crunching noise which sounded remarkably like someone pulling back a rusty bolt on a gate that hadn't been used for a while.

"What was that?" Connie asked, her eyebrows knitting together as she paused in her task of unpacking the shopping.

"Probably just someone next door," Caitlin covered quickly, kicking Mitchie while the attention of her mother was elsewhere. When Mitchie looked over at her, she pointed one finger in the air and then drew it in a circle – wrap it up, Mitchie. Wrap it up.

"Yeah, probably just someone next door," Mitchie agreed, picking up the bag. Nothing signalled the end of a conversation like picking up luggage, and combined with the words that she uttered next, there could be no mistake about Mitchie's intentions. "I guess we'd better be off then, Caitlin?"

"Yep," Caitlin said, jumping up and twirling her car keys on her index finger. "Thanks so much for this, Mitchie, Ms Torres. I don't know if I could face staying in the house by myself for a few weeks. I'd go even crazier."

Abandoning the groceries for a moment, Connie Torres pulled both girls into a hug. "You'll call me later, okay? And you have all your stuff for school?"

"I'll come and get it if I don't," Mitchie said, deciding that pretending she was going to be just a few streets away was a nice touch.

"Alright. Well, have fun. Don't try and cook anything exotic, I don't want Caitlin's house burning down."

"Believe me, that's the last thing I want."

"Her parents will be less than pleased."

"I'll be less than pleased," Caitlin interjected. "I have a lot of prized possessions in that house."

"Her Connect 3 shrine."

"I have no such thing."

Connie laughed, stepping away from her daughter and her daughter's best friend, but keeping her arm around Mitchie's shoulders.

"Right. Well. Be good, Mitchie."

Oh, God. She shouldn't be doing this. She shouldn't be lying like this. She should be telling her parents the truth. They might say yes. They might let her go on tour with a rock band in an attempt to clear up all the rumours that she'd had a one night stand with the lead singer. Crazier things have happened, the fact that a rock band had invited her on tour in an attempt to clear up the rumours that she'd had a one night stand with the lead singer being a prime example.

"Aren't I always?" she said, the knife of guilt not just stabbing her once, but over and over again.

"Love you."

"Love you too, Mom."

Caitlin steered Mitchie out of the kitchen, the smile on her mom's face, the creases at the corners of her eyes, just making her feel worse and worse. She couldn't do this. It was wrong. Totally, totally wrong.

"Bye!" Connie Torres called from the kitchen, as Caitlin Gellar and Mitchie Torres left the house. Mitchie closed the door behind her.

Neither of the girls spoke as they made their way down the driveway, Mitchie wracked with guilt and Caitlin painfully aware of how her best friend felt. In all honesty, as easy as she found it to lie to her parents, lying to Mitchie's mother had been a completely different thing. She loved Mitchie's mother beyond belief. Mitchie's mom had been there for her a lot – more than her own mother, even – and lying to her was hard.

But that didn't deter from the fact that it had to be done. How many times did anyone get the opportunity to go on tour with a band full of cute guys? It never did. Mitchie, as one of the lucky ones who did get that opportunity, had a duty to take it. It would be crazy to do anything but seize it with both hands, even if that meant lying to your lovely mother and father.

As they turned the corner, moved out of sight of the house, Caitlin couldn't resist the urge to break the silence.

"Are you okay?"

No response.

"That was difficult. It was difficult for me. But you had to do it, right?"

No response.

"You had to do it because Shane Grey came to your school and asked you to go on tour with him. Shane Grey. And I think he likes you, Mitchie. Maybe not like that, you barely know each other, but I think he just likes you. And Shane Grey doesn't like anyone."

No response.

"Come on, Mitchie. You're going to be alright, aren't you?"

No response.

"Mitchie?"

They turned another corner, walking onto the street where the Connect 3 tour bus was parked, Caitlin's Audi parked in front of it. Shane and Nate were standing on the pavement next to the open door of the bus, not quite deep in conversation, but in a kind of conversation nonetheless.

Caitlin looked over at her friend, discovering that the other girl's gaze was fixed steadfastly upon the dark-haired rock star. Following her line of sight, she saw that Shane had seen them coming and was standing, watching Mitchie. At that moment, however, Caitlin Gellar had no idea what that could possibly mean.

"Cait?" Just before they were in earshot of the two boys, Mitchie spoke for the first time since leaving her house.

"Uh-huh?"

"I'm going to be fine."

Caitlin nodded. "I know."

* * *

><p>Shane had been rooted to the spot for about a minute after Mitchie had pushed him out into the garden. Connie Torres had opened the door to her house while Shane was still standing in full view, and his only saving grace had been the fact that she'd been more preoccupied with getting her key out of the door than at inspecting the hallway. If he had been caught in that house, the entire thing would have been blown. He still wasn't entirely sure that it hadn't been.<p>

What he couldn't do, however, was to hang around in Mitchie's back yard all day, whether or not she had been successful in her lying test.

Moving quickly, he dodged to the side of the house, the gate that Mitchie had informed him about standing right in front of him. He'd been warned of the rusty bolt, but as he got closer to the gate, he decided that 'a bit rusty' had been an understatement; it didn't look like it had been opened in centuries. He wasn't even sure it could still open.

Now, Shane wasn't a weak person. He worked out, on occasion, and he didn't get to heartthrob status by being scrawny and little, even if certain other teen pop stars had managed it. But as he reached out and pulled back the bolt on the garden gate, he felt weaker than he had in years. The metal didn't even move.

Silently cursing Mitchie – though, admittedly, it wasn't her fault that her garden gate was so horrendously rusted – Shane pulled it harder. It gave, but just a little.

Groaning, Shane flexed his fingers and wrapped them around the metal knob again, pulling to the side as hard as he possibly could. It slipped another tiny amount.

This frustrated him, and forgetting that he wasn't supposed to be there, forgetting that Mitchie's mother was in the house, he kick out at the gate, putting all of his weight behind the action.

The gate made a horrible crunching sound, but swung open nonetheless. As soon as the loud noise had broken through the air, Shane had frozen, praying that the people inside hadn't heard the sound and hoping that nobody would come out to investigate it. For a few seconds he stood still, looking at the open gate, and then decided that he had better get out of the way so that if Mitchie's mother was on her way to see what had happened he wouldn't be around.

Shane didn't look back as he shut the gate – quietly this time – and walked quickly down the driveway, out onto the street. He didn't stop until he got back to the bus, where he leaned against the side of the vehicle and heaved a sigh, though he wasn't quite sure whether it was of relief or of… what?

He couldn't help but feel a bit like he was getting himself in deep. Too deep.

He also couldn't help but feel that he didn't care.

"You okay?"

Nate stepped down onto the pavement, standing opposite his band mate and speaking genuinely. He spoke genuinely to Shane a lot – or he thought he did – but this time felt different. This time, Shane was different, though he couldn't pinpoint the reason why.

"Yeah," came the simple answer.

"You sure?"

"Yeah."

"This…" He trailed off, as though he thought better of saying the words he'd planned on saying. Then, he decided against not saying them. "This is weird, Shane."

"I…" Shane sighed again, rubbing a hand over his face. "I know."

Nate took a sharp breath, like he was about to speak, but didn't. The second time he repeated that action, he did follow it up with verbalising his thoughts. "Why?"

Shane almost didn't answer, and the pause that passed between the boys corroborated this. "I have no idea."

"Okay," Nate replied, at length.

This reply surprised Shane and he didn't even bother disguising that emotion on his face. "Okay?"

"Okay."

Any further comment from Shane died upon his tongue, for at that moment he noticed that Mitchie and Caitlin were walking towards them. His stare was immediately attracted to the first girl, for a mad moment he considered waving. Just as he dismissed this thought as ludicrous, the third member of Connect 3 jumped down from the bus steps and gave a cheer at the sight of Mitchie.

Jason had been thrilled at the prospect of someone else joining them on tour – though Jason was very easily pleased. This excitement was easily translated in his next, enthusiastic outburst: "Let's go!"

Caitlin gave Mitchie's hand a squeeze, taking a pause to scrutinise her friend properly. In all her excitement thinking about the insanity and brilliance of the situation, she hadn't really digested it as reality. Only now, when she was about to say goodbye, about to watch Mitchie embark on what was possibly to be the biggest adventure of her life, did she really take in the magnitude of the situation. And, honestly, for all her talk about how this was not an opportunity that could be wasted, Caitlin was nervous for her friend – so she could only imagine how nervous Mitchie must be.

She could usually read her best friend so well, and she took pride in that fact, but the emotion in Mitchie's eyes was indistinguishable right now. She couldn't tell what the other girl was feeling, but then, she supposed it didn't matter. They were too far in it now.

"I guess… I'll see you later, Mitchie. You have to call me every night and" – this next part said in a less audible tone – "you are the luckiest person in the world."

They stood for only a fraction of a second before – and neither of them would know which one initiated it – they were hugging. And then, far too quickly, they had to part and, for the first time in forever, they had to go their separate ways.

Caitlin got into her car and was gone within a minute, the goodbye already two elongated for her liking.

Left standing on the sidewalk, three members of Connect 3 standing next to her, Mitchie Torres had never felt so alone.

Suddenly she wanted to run back home and worm her way under her duvet. Suddenly she wanted her normal, boring life back again. Suddenly this all seemed entirely overwhelming and she was sure it was never, ever going to work. Her parents were going to find out, the rumours were only going to get worse, Shane Grey was going to recover from the concussion he must have (something she could only assume occurred when she fell on him on Saturday night) and realise he didn't care about her at all.

"Mitchie?"

Snapping her mind out of the dire thoughts that were swarming to the forefront, Mitchie turned her head to see that the three boys had gotten on the bus. Shane was speaking to her from his position with one foot on the steps, hands on the railing, ready to pull himself up.

She nodded. Once, twice, then a third time for luck. She was _the_ luckiest girl in the world. She was the _luckiest _girl in the world. She _was _the luckiest girl in the world.

"Let's go."


	11. Stay The Night

**Title:** _Life Is Life_

**Summary: **_Once upon a time there was a fanfic called Believe In Me. This is the revamped version.__ "Left his house at midnight, resolute and young, in search of something greater than the person he'd become." __AU Smitchie._

**Author's Note: **_I am the worst person in the world at getting completely distracted. Seriously, I woke up this morning with the biggest urge to write a Lily/James Harry Potter fanfiction and it has taken every ounce of my being to sit down and write this. This one has to be finished first, goddamnit. But thank you for the reviews, hope you like this one. I'm going to make an approximation and say that you'll probably get three more chapters before I go away for Christmas, but more on that closer to the time._

**Disclaimer: **_Don't own._

**Music:** _Stay The Night – James Blunt_

**Cause if this is what we've got**

**Then what we've got is gold**

**We're shining bright and I want you**

**I want you to know**

**The morning's on its way**

**Our friends all say goodbye**

**There's nowhere else to go**

**I hope that you'll stay the night**

The craziest part of it all, Mitchie reflected as she sat on the tour bus, chewing the fries that had been bought at KFC to feed the four teenagers, was that it stopped feeling crazy after a very short while. Sure, the first ten minutes had been awkward city, but as inhibitions ebbed away she found herself becoming more and more relaxed with the entire situation.

She was sat on a beanbag, opposite Shane and Nate (who were on the couch) and adjacent to Jason (who was on a canvas director's chair that Mitchie was surprised remained upright on the moving vehicle). The boys had settled into what she could only presume was their normal routine – bickering over the slightest thing, throwing sarcastic comments at each other like darts and (in the case of Jason) eating like it was the last supper. She had fitted into their normal routine with very little difficulty, and that was the part that freaked her out the most. Two hours on that bus and it was like she'd always been there.

Mitchie didn't have much time to dwell on why that was, however; distractions came in droves on the Connect 3 tour bus. Her mind was occupied with something or other all night, be it the great TV argument of 7:35pm, or the conversation Shane started about The Beatles versus The Rolling Stones at seventeen minutes past nine.

"Clearly, the Stones were better. The Stones are still going. McCartney's the only Beatle you hear about these days, and mostly because he's getting married again. Or divorced."

"The Beatles aren't still going because two of them are dead," Mitchie said, almost affronted at Shane's perspective.

"They'd been broken up ten years before Lennon died!"

"But who knows if they would have reconciled?"

"That's not the point," Shane said, shaking his head. "They _didn't _reconcile. We can only go on the evidence, and the evidence is that the Stones are still out there and the Beatles aren't."

"That doesn't even make sense," Nate interjected, having declared himself firmly on Mitchie's side at the beginning of the conversation. That had been at least ten minutes ago.

Jason shrugged. As the one person in the room who hadn't offered his own opinion, the three others turned to look at him at this action, waiting to see what he was going to say. Upon realising that the attention of the rest of the room was on him, Jason's eyes widened; he hadn't actually had anything to contribute. "Uh… I think I thought it made sense?"

Shane rolled his eyes, turning his head back to swivel between Mitchie and Nate. "It does too make sense. And anyway, even if you can't understand that basic logic, just listen to Exile On Main Street. It's genius."

"Have you _listened _to The White Album?" Mitchie asked, throwing her arms up in the air.

"Or Abbey Road?" Nate added, earning himself a look of approval from Mitchie.

"_Or _Sgt. Pepper?" Mitchie supplemented.

"Of course I have –" Shane began, ready to fight his corner a little more. He only got halfway through his sentence, however, before he was cut off.

"What about Sgt. Salt?"

Three incredulous faces turned to where Jason was sitting, their expressions matching perfectly; noses wrinkled, eyebrows knotted together, mouths curved into a confused frown.

The fourth person in the room mistook their disbelief for ignorance, and carried on with very little thought on the matter.

"Well, I mean, they had pepper, yeah? And everyone knows you don't get pepper without salt."

For a short while, nobody said anything – Nate was considering how dense his friend could be sometimes, emphasising the sometimes in his thoughts, Shane was wondering how his friend managed to get up in the morning with no brain at all, and Mitchie was just astonished. It was the latter that broke the silence first, though, and she broke it with a snort of laughter.

That snort of laughter – whether it was because it was an actual pig-like snort (which it was) or because it caused the humour of the situation to dawn on everyone (which it did) – was a catalyst that set the other two into peals of laughter too, which then turned into howls that were exacerbated further whenever they caught each others' eye. It was a good five minutes later that any one of them felt composed enough to sit up straight and wipe the tears from their eyes, breathing heavily as they calmed down.

"I cannot," Nate inhaled sharply, his cheeks hurting from the grin on his face. "Remember… the last time… I laughed so much."

It wasn't an exaggeration, Shane realised as soon as he heard the words fall from his friend's lips; they didn't laugh often these days. They used to, all the time, but it was a rarity now. This entire night was odd for them, in fact. Usually they'd end up in separate rooms doing their own thing. Tonight they'd had fast food and conversation and laughter. It was all very… fun.

"My stomach actually hurts." Mitchie groaned, unaware of how true Nate's words had been, unaware of how Shane's thoughts were making him feel all nostalgic, unaware of how different this tour bus was with her presence on it – because it was very different with her presence on it.

"Jason, dude, that was the funniest thing you have ever said," said Shane, turning to look at the band mate who hadn't joined in with the hysterics. The other two, almost recovered from their laughing fit, followed suit.

Jason's gaze flicked to each of the people watching him, confusion clouding his expression. "I… I don't really understand. Do they not like salt in England? Is that why they only went with pepper?"

There was no snorting this time around, no expressions of incredulity, barely even any silent moment of amazement. Shane, Nate and Mitchie just collapsed into a burst of hysterics once again, the entire point of their conversation forgotten.

It was like she'd been their friend since forever.

* * *

><p>While she was in the company of at least one of the members of Connect 3 – as she was for the remainder of the evening – Mitchie was fine. She didn't have the time to mull everything over, didn't have the time to feel bad about her lies or to analyse what, exactly, all of this meant. It was only when they had said their goodnights, when the lights in all the rooms went out, when she thought about Shane spending another night on the couch, that her thoughts went into overdrive, and such thoughts were not a good thing.<p>

If she'd had to guess, she'd have surmised that she lay in the dark – in the bed that smelt so unmistakeably of the Hollister cologne that Shane wore – for at least three hours, but initially she refused to check the time. She just screwed her eyes shut and hoped that by some lovely twist of fate sleep would take the reins in her mind. No such twist came, and eventually Mitchie had to check the time to see exactly how long she'd been lying there in such turmoil.

Having gone to bed at quarter to midnight (after a short text exchange with her mother assuring her that she was fine and that she hadn't forgotten anything in which Mitchie squirmed every time she pressed send because although she wasn't technically lying – she _was _fine and she _hadn't _forgotten anything – she felt like her nose was getting longer by the second), the fact that the digits glaring up at her informed her that it was just gone 3am told her that she had been tossing and turning for far too long. She might as well resign herself to the fact that she wasn't going to get much rest tonight. And that's what she did.

Mitchie threw back the covers with a light groan, ran a hand through her hair – which, despite the detail that she hadn't been to sleep, was a mess – and stood up, a little surprised to feel that the bus was still moving under her feet. Did the driver not sleep? How did that work?

The door, thankfully, didn't make a sound as she edged it open and squeezed her way through it, her bare feet padding through to the tiny kitchenette. Through the small door she could just make out the end of the couch and what she assumed to be Shane's feet wrapped up in covers. A pang of guilt stabbed through her at the thought of him sleeping on the couch again just to… what? Save her skin? Do damage control? Get to know her? None of the above seemed entirely worth it, in Mitchie's opinion.

As she pulled open the door to the fridge – it still baffled her that there was a fridge on a bus, that there was a _kitchen _on a bus – the light spilled out into the small space. She had to squint, it was far too bright for the eyes that had been staring into darkness for the past three hours, and so it took a few seconds for her to begin to work out what she was seeing. What did she want?

Another thought occurred to her as she scanned the shelves. Could she just take any of this? It wasn't hers, after all. What did Shane Grey do to people who ate his food?

Mitchie didn't think she said any of this out loud; why would she? There was nobody there to talk to, no reason why she should speak her thoughts instead of just thinking them. First sign of madness, talking to yourself, that was what her dad always said. She thought she kept her thoughts in her mind, like most people.

Unless Shane Grey was a particularly apt mind reader, however, it is to be concluded that she definitely said _something _out loud, and that something was most likely the thought 'what did Shane Grey do to people who ate his food?'.

"I skin them alive, clearly."

Mitchie jumped – why did he keep sneaking up on her like that? – and swivelled to face the half-dressed boy in the doorway quickly. She desperately wanted to think of something clever and/or witty to say in reply, but the fact that he had scared her half to death and did so half-dressed captured her attention enough for her to not be able to think of a single thing other than that she really did have to avert her eyes from his chest. As nicely toned as it was.

"Why do you ask?" he continued, leaning casually against the drywall panels that separated the living room area from the tiny kitchen they were in now. "Have you been eating my food, Mitchie Torres?"

She stood up, letting the kitchen door sail shut on its own. "No. Not yet, anyway."

"Oh, so you were thinking about it?"

"I was considering it."

Shane cocked an eyebrow. "Do you always get up for a 3am snack?"

"When I'm on tour."

"That would be a no, then."

"My answer sounded much cooler than a no."

Shane didn't reply to this, just smiled widely.

"What are you doing awake?" Mitchie asked, her heart rate having returned to its normal rhythm and her worry that she'd woken him up bubbling up through her mind.

"I couldn't sleep," Shane admitted with very little hesitation.

Mitchie did hesitate, however. She knew why she'd been unable to sleep; she couldn't stop asking herself questions about why this was happening to her, why Shane Grey seemed to have taken an interest in her feelings, why she was beginning to feel the way she was when the boy in question was around. She wouldn't have ever admitted any of that to him, of course, but Mitchie Torres was well aware that the plague of those thoughts was responsible for keeping her awake.

Her first thought, when Shane had said he couldn't sleep, was (ashamedly) regarding why he couldn't sleep. What was keeping him awake? Was he feeling the same as she was? Was he regretting bringing her with them? Was he uncomfortable on that couch?

Her second thought had been to proffer an immediate 'me too' answer, but then she stopped herself. What if, by saying that, he figured it all out? What if he asked her why she couldn't sleep? What if he asked her why she couldn't sleep and she couldn't think of a lie and as a result of that he figured it all out? She couldn't say 'me too'. She just couldn't.

"What about you?"

"Uh…" Mitchie fought to think of a good answer, something better, but her tongue wasn't in the co-operating mood: "I couldn't sleep either."

"Ah," came the reply from Shane. "Was it the whole being on the bus thing?"

For a panicked second Mitchie thought he'd figured it out, that his comment was in reference to how confused she was over having been invited on this tour, on this trip. Then she realised that the bus was still moving and that it was to that that Shane was referring.

"Yeah," she nodded, trying to look nonchalant. "Yes."

"It's just like sleeping on a plane, really," Shane said, nodding with her. "You just have to forget you're moving."

Mitchie shrugged. "I wouldn't know. I've never been on a plane."

"Really?"

"Really, really. With both my parents owning their own businesses, it's kind of difficult for them to get more than a few days off at the same time, so we just didn't do that sort of thing."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

Silence crept between them, forcing Mitchie to calm her worries down. No, there were a lot of things that she didn't understand, but that was okay. The more she thought about them, the more she worried, the more strained this two weeks was going to be. She just had to be normal and maybe – hopefully – all would be revealed along the way.

With this in mind, she turned away from Shane, taking one last irresistible glance at his bare chest, and crouched back down to open up the fridge again.

"So… if I'm not allowed to eat your food, which of this stuff is Nate's?"

Shane laughed.

* * *

><p>Five minutes later and the couch had been demoted back to its proper use as Shane and Mitchie sat on it to eat chocolate and watch TV at half past three in the morning. Or, at least, that was the eventual plan. Once they stopped fighting over the remote control.<p>

"Nuh-uh," Shane shook his head, holding the remote control as high as he could in the air. "My TV."

"It is not," Mitchie scoffed, abandoning any attempt to reach the remote and planting her hands firmly on her hips as she stood in front of the other teenager.

"I think you'll find it is."

"How much did you pay for it then, Shane?"

"$300."

"You're such a liar."

"I am not! If you want the whole truth –"

"I do."

"– I had to pay for a replacement because I broke the last one."

"Oh, really? And how did you manage that? One of your famous temper tantrums?"

Shane faltered, bringing the remote down for a fraction of a second as he gave his answer: "Yes."

Mitchie's hands dropped from her hips and she exhaled in a puff. "Oh."

She wasn't going to let awkward silence take over for longer than it had to, though, and so when the pause began to take hold she reached up and plucked the remote deftly out of his relaxed hands.

"That isn't even the point though. I'm a guest, I get the remote," she said, settling onto the couch with the control tightly in her fingers.

"Can you really be considered a guest when you're living here for two weeks?" Shane said, a fake grumble in his voice. He collapsed onto the couch next to the girl, but didn't put up any kind of a fight for the device in her hands.

"Yes."

"Whatever."

"Yep."

"You always have to have the last word, don't you?"

"When I'm right."

"Oh, so not always then. Definitely not always. A lot less than always, in fact."

"Ha, ha," Mitchie gave a sarcastic laugh, turning her attention to the television as she pressed the button to turn it on.

The sound came blaring out of the speakers, louder than either of the two people on the couch could have imagined it would be and both of them scrambled to turn it down (Mitchie, having the remote control, was successful in the endeavour while Shane just looked like an idiot trying to press the button over Mitchie's finger). The speakers were muted for a few moments as they sat, frozen and waiting to see if they'd woken up either of the other two on the bus. When it became safe to assume that they hadn't, Mitchie turned it up slowly and left it at a very low level.

"Who had the TV up that loud?" she asked when her heartbeat levelled out for the second time that night.

"I don't know, but I want to smother whoever did," Shane replied, ruffling up his hair absent-mindedly. "Let's take bets."

There was a pause as both teens considered this. Then, in perfect unison: "Jason."

"Poor Jason," Mitchie said, stifling a grin. "He gets such a bad rep."

"_Poor Jason? _He practically asks for it. I mean, 'do they not like salt in England?', seriously?"

"Oh, God." She couldn't contain the laughter that rose up, shaking her head in disbelief at the not-so-distant memory. "That was…"

"Stupid," Shane finished, opening his bar of chocolate and devouring the first two squares in record time.

Mitchie rolled her eyes, but didn't make a statement. She wanted to say that it wasn't exactly a nice thing to dub his band mate; she wanted to say that maybe he was clever in other ways, but it didn't feel right to be lecturing him. The recollection of how she'd told Shane off the first night they'd met, three nights ago, came back to her instantly. She still felt guilty about that.

Flicking to an episode of Friends – honestly, was that show ever _not _on? – she ignored a groan of protest from Shane and, a few seconds later, shot a question in his direction:

"How long have you known them?"

Shane knew whom she meant instantly, but as was often the case when it came to talking about personal things, he feigned ignorance for a while, popping two more chocolate squares in his mouth before retorting. "I've never met Jennifer Aniston."

Kicking him with her big toe, Mitchie rolled her eyes again. "No, idiot. Nate and Jason. How long have you known them?"

"We grew up together. Have you not read the magazines?"

"Yes," came the reply, the tone soft as she spoke. "But I figured if your record company are lying about everything else, they could have lied about that too."

He nodded, showing his agreement, and sat up a little straighter. "I guess. But they didn't have to. We grew up together. From the same neighbourhood. Nate was my best friend, Jason was… an acquaintance…" At a look from Mitchie, Shane rolled his eyes and amended: "Fine. Jason was a friend too, of sorts, and we thought it would be fun to get a band together. So we did, and we played a few small-time things, birthday parties and that sort of gig. And then we went to Camp Rock, which is –"

"I know what Camp Rock is," Mitchie chipped in.

"Right." Shane couldn't quite mask his surprise, though he didn't know why he was surprised at that fact. Maybe because he would have assumed that had she known what it was, Mitchie would have been there. "Well, we went there, and were spotted by some talent executives. And the rest is history. Or the rest is the present, seeing as we're still waiting to get where we want to be."

"Why did you say was?"

"What?"

"You said that Nate _was _your best friend."

Shane paused, not meeting Mitchie's eye as he contemplated his answer. "He was. I'm not so sure he'd want to be dubbed that these days."

It amazed Mitchie, completely amazed her, that he was giving her these honest replies with so little hesitancy. Naturally there was some degree of pause, but not enough to make her think that he ever didn't want to answer. Not enough to make her think that he wasn't going to answer.

It amazed Shane too, that he was so willing to give the replies. Maybe it was just because someone was asking the questions that nobody had ever bothered asking him before; maybe he would have been just as honest with anybody. But there was something in his mind that said that that wasn't the case. He wouldn't have been just as honest with any old average Joe. Mitchie was both asking the questions and caring about the answers, and he didn't think he'd be able to find many people who would do both of those things. Not for the bad boy Shane Grey anyway.

He cleared his throat, pushing those thoughts to the very precipice of his mind and focussing on the situation at hand. "How do you know about Camp Rock, then?"

"I, uh, I wanted to go." Mitchie looked down at her hands, the commercial break not providing enough distraction from the question. "I wanted to go, but we couldn't afford it."

Of course, it was stupid, feeling so ashamed to say that sentence. A lot of people in this day and age couldn't afford things like that, the economy was shot to pieces and people were talking about it on the news every day and night. So her family hadn't been able to afford to send her to a music camp. It was an expensive music camp and at least there was food on the table and each other for company.

But she was ashamed to say that sentence, especially in front of Shane. He could buy whatever he wanted, she knew that. He had a nice car and designer clothes and had probably spent hundreds of dollars on that hair cut, despite the fact that it would have cost about $10 if he'd had it done at a normal small-town barbers shop. How would he sympathise over not having enough money?

"Oh." Shane's reaction didn't help matters much; he _couldn't _sympathise, not anymore. Once upon a time, when he had been living at home with his parents and sister, when he had been going to school and not getting paid thousands to wear things, to endorse things, to get up on stage and sing music he didn't believe in… once upon a time he'd have been able to understand. Now, though, he couldn't.

"How much did you pay for that hair cut?" Mitchie asked before she could stop herself, her gaze glued to Chandler and Ross on the screen.

Shane let out a bark of laughter, his nose wrinkled in confusion as he did so. "What?" Almost subconsciously, he reached up to run a hand through his hair. "I didn't. A hairdresser cut it for a music video."

She wasn't sure whether the answer made her feel better or worse. He didn't even have to pay for haircuts.

Neither of them spoke for a few more minutes, both sets of eyes fixed on the episode on the TV screen.

"Hey," was the word that broke the silence, the word that caused Mitchie's stare to snap to meet Shane's. "I have a question."

"Hm?"

"Are you going to eat that?" Having finished his own, Shane nodded at the chocolate that she had put down on the couch next to her before the argument for the remote had broken out, forgotten about until that moment.

Mitchie laughed, though he hadn't said anything funny, and moved her gaze back to Shane's for just an instant. It was clear what he wanted her to say. He wanted her to say no so that he could move in and take it from her. And she was more than certain he _expected _her to say that he could have it. How many times did people deny Shane Grey things? She'd be willing to bet that it didn't happen often.

"Well?" He pushed, the sides of his lips tilting upwards in a semi-smirk.

"Don't you even think about it, Shane Grey. Just because you scoffed all of yours…"

"I did not scoff all of mine –"

"Greedy is one word for it –"

"– oh, you want to talk about greedy?"

"– you can't go around taking other people's just because you've finished –"

"– let's talk about greedy then, Miss I-Don't-Share –"

"– you can't just expect them to give you it either –"

"– I didn't realise you were Joey Tribbiani in disguise –"

"– it's just not etiquette, Shane –"

"– I don't care about etiquette, _Mitchie_ –"

* * *

><p>The sun was harsh in her eyes when she woke up, which was weird considering Shane's room on the bus didn't have a window. Also, when she moved her bare arms, they were making a suction noise, like she was peeling them off something sticky. And <em>also<em>, her pillow seemed to be moving.

Mitchie couldn't understand any of those three things as she slowly edged into consciousness the next morning, but she was far too groggy to put the pieces together quickly. So the pieces would have to go together slowly.

She had gone to bed… in Shane's bed. Well, that part was right. That was where it had been agreed that she would sleep for her duration on tour, despite the protest that she'd put up. She'd definitely gone to bed there. She remembered that, remembered getting into her pyjamas, remembered closing her eyes… remembered still being awake at three in the morning. Okay. So she'd been awake at three in the morning, and had… gone out to get something to eat. Yes. And then…

"Mitchie? Shane?"

Mitchie scrunched her eyes shut, trying to block out the voice that was disturbing her thoughts. She had gotten up to get something to eat and… Shane had been awake. And they'd talked about not being able to sleep, and had gotten some food and… then what?

"Mitchie? Shane?"

And then… they had gone into the living area to watch TV…

"Are they awake?"

"Apparently not – though Mitchie screwed up her eyes a minute ago and Shane isn't snoring."

"Mitchie? Shane?"

Mitchie was just about to open an eye and tell whoever was disturbing her to shh, when some of the grogginess shifted and their words sunk in properly. They were saying Mitchie _and _Shane, like they were in the same place. They thought they were asleep.

They had gone to the living area to watch TV… and Mitchie had never gone back to bed. She had fallen asleep on the couch with Shane. The light was because there were windows in this part of the bus, and the sticky sound was the leather of the couch and the pillow…

She shot up, her eyes wide open and her gasp more than audible – it woke the other person on the couch up too. "Oh, my God."

"They're awake," Jason announced unnecessarily, and sat down on the beanbag opposite them with a thump.

"I wish I wasn't," Shane muttered, rolling his eyes and sitting up properly. He was still shirtless.

"How long have you guys been there?" Nate asked, though it clearly wasn't the real question he wanted to know the answer to.

"Since about three," came the reply from Shane as the teenager rubbed his eyes and yawned.

"I couldn't sleep," added Mitchie, hurriedly. "And neither could… well, I went into the kitchen and we started talking and then we were watching TV and then I guess we fell asleep."

"Shane?" Nate looked over at his band mate, as though asking him to corroborate this story. Had Mitchie not been so freaked over the position she'd just been found in, she may have been offended that he didn't believe her.

"We fell asleep."

Jason laughed, drumming his hands on the beanbag. "And you said the couch wasn't comfortable. If it's comfortable enough for the two of you –"

"Yeah, alright, Jason," Shane interrupted. Now that he had his bearings and was more awake, he slid his gaze over to Mitchie, who was still looking less than comfortable with the situation.

Feeling his stare, Mitchie caught Shane's eye for a second before looking away, standing up and folding her arms. "I'm going to go and get ready."

She didn't wait to hear any response to this, and darted through to the kitchen and into the room she'd abandoned the night before, shutting the door behind her. It was only when the door was shut that Nate spoke, his standing form towering above Shane's sitting one.

"Shane, I need… _we _need… to know what all of this is about."

Shane Grey didn't have a clue how to respond to that; he faked obliviousness with his furrowed brow and slight frown but knew before he formed the expression that it wouldn't work.

"Shane, don't, okay? You come back to the bus on Saturday night and you've got this girl with you, and you're talking to her like you're friends, like you've been friends for years. And there's nothing wrong with that, it… it reminds me of how you used to be, but it's not… it's not like you. Not like this you. But then you give her your number and you _break _someone's nose for her,and you wait for her to call like… like a little kid waits for Christmas, and then she does and you're ecstatic and you're happy. And then she gets found out, her name gets leaked and we have to fix it, we have to help her. You've never… you've never been like this before, Shane. You've never been like this. And I'm not saying it's bad, I'm not saying she can't stay, but I need to know what Jason and I are signing up for by having her here."

The man this was all addressed to wavered, his loud sigh the sign of defeat. And yet, still, he didn't say anything. He couldn't say anything, because he didn't know what to say. He'd told Nate as much yesterday; he had no idea why he was doing any of this. He had no idea what he felt or what Mitchie had that was so life altering about her, but he knew that it was good. He knew that it made him someone better.

"Shane," Jason spoke up, leaning forwards on the beanbag to talk in a loud whisper. "Do you like her? Unplatonically?"

"I don't think that's a word –" Shane started, but was cut off with a look from Nate.

"That's not the point. Do you like her? Because if you do, I'm not so sure this tour thing is a good idea. Not if you're going to be waking up like that every morning.

Shane swallowed, taking a moment to gather his thoughts and push them to the back of his mind.

He hadn't been able to sleep the night before because his thoughts had been so occupied with her, so occupied with trying to work out what it all meant. In all honesty, Shane was freaked out by it. He couldn't decide whether he liked her or not, and he was focusing all his energy on it being the latter because he couldn't like her. She was too good for him.

"No. No, we're… becoming friends, is all. This definitely won't happen again either, we just fell asleep. You've got nothing to worry about."

Nate surveyed Shane for a long time, just standing above him, scanning his face for any trace of faltering. The older boy didn't bat an eyelid, however, and at length the younger boy turned away, moving through to the kitchen to start getting his breakfast.

"Okay," he said as he went, disappearing into the other room for a few seconds before popping his head around the panels. "And Shane? Put a shirt on, will you?"


	12. My Stupid Mouth

**Title:** _Life Is Life_

**Summary: **_Once upon a time there was a fanfic called Believe In Me. This is the revamped version.__ "Left his house at midnight, resolute and young, in search of something greater than the person he'd become." __AU Smitchie._

**Author's Note: **_I'm so sorry. I tried to get this chapter finished before I went on holiday but it just wasn't going to happen without significant rushing and as this is supposed to be a final draft that I'm completely satisfied with that wasn't going to work for me. Hopefully you're still with me after my tours of Florida, because I'm definitely still with you guys._

**Disclaimer: **_Don't own._

**Music:** _My Stupid Mouth – John Mayer_

**Oh, another social casualty**

**Score one more for me**

**How could I forget?**

**Mama said, "think before speaking"**

**No filter in my head**

**Oh, what's a boy to do**

**I guess he better find one soon**

When Mitchie entered the arena that the boys of Connect 3 were scheduled to be playing that night, she didn't make her presence known, opting to sit in one of the seats near the back which were in relative darkness, just watching the band go through their sound check routine.

Shane had a guitar in his hand, something she was fairly certain she'd never seen before, as did Jason, with Nate sitting behind the drums. The rest of their band were nowhere to be seen, and though Mitchie did momentarily wonder why it was just the three of them, she also acknowledged that she'd taken a while to get ready – most of which had been spent composing herself after being found that morning having shared the couch with Shane. It was just the three of them left.

The melody that they were playing didn't sound familiar, the acoustics in the room providing more than enough volume for Mitchie to be able to tell that this was not a song that was on any of their records. She had owned their CDs, after all, even if she wasn't willing to admit it immediately. She still remembered most of the words, something that her mother was always attributing to the fact that she just didn't have anything more important to store in her memory just yet.

It didn't take a genius to work out that if this wasn't one of the songs on their albums, it must be one of the ones that didn't make the cut, one of the ones that their record company hadn't thought worthy to keep, one of the ones (considering what Shane had told her) that the band had written themselves. And, admittedly, the song had barely even started, but Mitchie couldn't for the life of her work out what was wrong with it.

"_If the heart is always searching,_

_Can you ever find a home?_

_I've been looking for that someone,_

_I'll never make it on my own_

_Dreams can't take the place of loving you,_

_There's gotta be a million reasons why it's true."_

It was melodic, and it was simple and the lyrics were pretty good, and Mitchie was pleasantly surprised. Shane was good on guitar – why didn't he play it more? – and it was like playing their own material brought them together as a band as opposed to three individuals who could sing and play instruments. When she'd said that Connect 3 were void of passion and soul, she never imagined that this could be up their sleeves, and yet it was. They were capable of being a really good band, but just weren't getting the opportunity to live up to that. They were getting the opportunity to be a mediocre, teeny-bopper band and almost anyone could be capable of that sort of thing.

She was so lost in the thought of this – the revelation that there were two versions of Connect 3 and that one of them was pretty damn good – that she didn't notice the music coming to an abrupt halt. It was only when Shane called her name loudly that she snapped out of her reverie and gave the boys on the stage her full attention. All of them were looking at her.

"How long have you been there?" Jason asked, his expression the jovial one that she had come to associate with him in the short time that they'd known each other.

"Not long," she replied, standing up and walking towards them – no point in staying in the shadows now that they knew she was there. "The beginning of that song? I didn't want to interrupt."

"We were finished anyway," Nate countered, stepping out from behind the drums and twirling the sticks around his fingers. Shane rolled his eyes at the action, and had Mitchie been a little bit closer she may have heard the mutter of "show off" that he shot in his band mate's direction.

Laying his guitar on the stage floor, Shane stretched his arms above his head and didn't even bother disguising his tired yawn. Although none of the other boys spoke a word, Mitchie couldn't help but flush slightly at this action, sure that she knew exactly what was going through the minds of two-thirds of Connect 3.

"I am so hungry," came the post-yawn comment from Shane, and he glanced at Nate and Jason to see whether either of them would agree and come up with a solution that would quench his appetite. Neither of them complied; they'd had the opportunity to eat breakfast before the sound check, whereas Shane had quite clearly overslept and had missed his chance. "Are you not hungry?"

Much to Shane's amazement, still no reply came from the other two boys who were busying themselves with leaving the instruments and equipment in the way that they wanted to find them that night, when the show was about to start.

"Seriously," he spoke again, incredulity evident in his voice. "I cannot be the only one who is starving."

Shane had missed breakfast because he had been up rather late and had slept until his two band mates had rudely awakened him. Mitchie's predicament was much the same, although she didn't have two band mates, and so she too had missed out on getting anything to eat that morning. Until that moment, however, she hadn't been thinking about it. She'd been thinking about her embarrassment, thinking about whether this entire tour thing was a good idea, thinking about the fact that she was supposed to be at school and that if Caitlin's letter hadn't worked there was a very good chance her parents were on their way to Rhode Island to pick her up, thinking about how much she genuinely liked this song that Connect 3 were playing. Being hungry didn't really get the chance to factor into the equation. But she was – hungry, that is – and just as she realised that herself, her stomach growled and informed the rest of the room as well. As if she needed to feel any more embarrassed.

To give him his credit, Shane Grey didn't laugh out loud at the sound, nor the blush that crept across Mitchie's face, but he couldn't keep that trademark smirk from his face as he stood up. "Well, that settles it then, Torres. We're leaving these two freaks and going to get breakfast, alright?"

Mitchie didn't have the heart, the willpower, or the stomach contents to protest; she watched as Shane leapt off the stage and made his way toward her, and then walked beside him out of the venue, throwing a goodbye to the other two over her shoulder without looking back – not seeing their knowing looks but under no illusions that they were there.

* * *

><p>"Nuh-uh. You can't have any," Mitchie said, shaking her head and moving her arms so that they were shielding the plate on which her chocolate chip pancakes lay.<p>

Shane pouted – a tactic he wasn't expecting to work on the girl in front of him but one that he felt inclined to try anyway – and when that didn't crack her he picked up his fork, trying to navigate the utensil around her arms so as to stab some of her food. He'd finished his own in what must have been record time, and Mitchie was taking far too long to clean her plate. He was only trying to help her out.

The diner that they'd ended up in was a quiet place – though that may have had a lot to do with the fact that it was late on a Wednesday morning and most people were at school or work. The waitress had been flirting incessantly with Shane but, to Mitchie's surprise, he wasn't reciprocating. In fact, the first time she'd giggled shrilly a glint of annoyance had flashed through the teenage boy's eyes, though that didn't seem to have deterred the blonde at all. She'd been over to ask if everything was okay five times so far, and Mitchie was sure she was counting down the seconds until it would be acceptable to do so again.

"Shane. No." Mitchie moved her plate out of the way, shaking her head even more vigorously. "Why don't you just order your own?"

"Because I refuse to believe you're going to eat all of those, and I am completely against food waste."

"We had this discussion last night, did we not? You don't get to eat other people's food just because you've eaten all of yours. That isn't how it works."

"I think I won that argument though, by comparing you to Joey from Friends."

"That's a complete and utter lie, you didn't win it at all."

"I think I did."

"You think wrong."

"Excuse me?" The blonde waitress was back, hovering around the table like a fly that Shane just wanted to swat. Even her voice was a bit like a grating buzzing sound. "Is everything okay here?"

"_Fine_," Mitchie said emphatically, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. It wasn't jealousy in any shape or form; she just wanted to be able to have a conversation with Shane without interruptions from a fame whore like this. Although calling the waitress a fame whore probably wasn't the best way to convince others she wasn't envious. At least she hadn't said it aloud.

The brunette looked over at Shane, fully expecting to see him reacting in much the same way. Instead, however, she found his gaze fixed on the other girl, a broad smile on his face. For a moment – and it was just a moment – Mitchie's mouth went oddly dry and her eyes widened just a fraction. Then, he started talking.

"Actually," he glanced down at the name badge of the waitress, his tone loaded with sarcasm that may or may not have been picked up by the person he was talking to. "Jessie. I would love to get your opinion on something, seeing as your six visits over here make you seem so interested in what my friend and I are talking about. What are your thoughts on sharing food? Is it acceptable? Would you do it? Say, for instance, if those were your chocolate chip pancakes that Mitchie over there is holding and I was asking you for one pancake, just one, would you be a gem and hand it over or would you turn into Joey from Friends and refuse outright?"

Mitchie didn't even resist the urge to roll her eyes then, an act that Shane definitely saw and grinned at. She opened her mouth to form a rebuttal, but the boy sitting opposite her lifted one finger to silence any words waiting to fall from her lips and looked up at Jessie the waitress with an expression of mock interest.

"Well, I think that of course I'd share it with you." Jessie shot a triumphant look in Mitchie's direction, clearly feeling that she had the upper hand in this situation, before looking back at Shane with a simpering expression. "But, of course, I could just go and get you a pancake for yourself and then you wouldn't even have to share."

"Ooh," Shane said, the smile when he looked at Mitchie turning genuine, the twinkle in his eye giving that away. "One for myself, huh?"

"I seem to remember suggesting that to you a while ago?" Mitchie replied, shaking her head in disbelief. Shane Grey really was something else.

"Did you hear that, Jessie? I think she's trying to steal your idea!" Shane's voice was still light, still joking, his gaze was still on Mitchie.

But a wash of something else flooded over her at these words. She didn't know what made her feel like it, didn't even know if it was rational, but in her mind he couldn't possibly play his way out of this situation without mortifying the waitress or mortifying Mitchie. She couldn't shake the thought that this entire conversation was either a way to embarrass the waitress into leaving them alone, or a chance for Shane to flirt with the blonde. Either way, he'd allowed himself to lapse into being the arrogant jerk once again.

Sliding her plate back onto the table, Mitchie stood up – something that Shane had not been anticipating and that he raised his eyebrows at – and pushed her chair back. "I'm going to the bathroom," she announced, perhaps unnecessarily, her voice flat.

Shane didn't really understand what had happened; he really had just been trying to get her to roll her eyes and slap one of her pancakes on his plate. Then he could thank the waitress for her opinion and go back to having breakfast with the girl who was on tour with him. He didn't think he'd said anything that warranted a reaction like that, but then most of the girls that he'd been around had been ones who would laugh at whatever he said, just because it was he who had said it. He'd lost a sensitivity filter on his mouth a long time ago.

Still, for someone who didn't have a clue what had just transpired to make his breakfast companion storm (well, maybe not storm, he wasn't sure Mitchie had the temper to storm anywhere) to the bathroom, he felt incredibly guilty about it, watching the back of Mitchie until the door to the public bathrooms swung shut behind her.

"So," a voice next to him snapped his attention to the waitress. "You could totally take one of her pancakes now."

"I don't think so," Shane replied, attempting to keep his voice as even and neutral as possible, but the flash of annoyance flying back into his eyes as he looked up at her. This time, the girl seemed to get the message and babbling some excuse about picking up leftovers from a table on the other side of the room, she left his side. With any luck, she wouldn't be back. With any luck, Mitchie would be.

Just as he was hoping she hadn't climbed out of a window in the bathroom, she exited the bathroom. He knew that he had a sheepish look on his face, he just hoped that it was enough to melt away any annoyance she had left. He didn't know what had spurred her to react in such a way, but he wasn't going to prolong her being mad at him. He wasn't even going to give her the chance to dwell on it.

"What's your favourite story?" came the question, as soon as Mitchie was close enough to hear him.

She sat down, glad to see that the waitress was gone, glad to see that he seemed to have realised the error of his ways, even if he wasn't acknowledging them. That didn't mean she knew what he was talking about, however. "Excuse me?"

"It was my question. What's your favourite story?"

Mitchie was by no means a feminist of any significant calibre, though she did feel like she should be putting up more of a resistance against the turning of his charm in her direction. She couldn't stop herself from smiling, however, sliding back into the seat opposite him and letting the corners of her lips turn up.

"Peter Pan."

The question had been an odd one anyway, Shane knew that, but it had been the first one that had popped into his head. He couldn't say he'd been expecting an answer like that though, for whatever reason, and that fact showed on his face. "Really?"

"Yeah." Mitchie nodded, not making eye contact with him. When she did look up to meet his gaze, she saw that he was waiting for the elaboration that they'd decided upon and shook her head out of slight exasperation before inhaling deeply. "I don't know what else you want me to say about that. I just really liked the story, the idea of a place where nobody ever had to grow up."

"Nah, it was only Peter that had that power, wasn't it?" Shane sat back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest.

Mitchie narrowed her eyes, tilting her head to one side. "What do you mean?"

"Well, it must have been. Wendy went back home and grew up, didn't she?"

"I thought she chose to. She wanted to grow up."

"Well, my interpretation was that people grew up around him. He stayed how he was, young and child-like –"

"And selfish," Mitchie interjected, one eyebrow raised.

Shane grinned, but it wasn't the same grin that he performed on the red carpet. This one was a little lopsided, not so perfect. This one was intriguing. "And selfish, and everyone else matured around him."

Mitchie had to admit, she was fairly impressed. She didn't agree with his hypothesis, necessarily, but he'd clearly been informed about this, had clearly formed his own opinion on it. It was the time she took to mull over the fact that she was stunned that allowed Shane the time to jump in with another question, even though he was technically breaking their makeshift rules by doing so.

"Don't you want to grow up, then?"

The girl sighed, looking down at her hands. "It's not that I don't want to. It's just that… we get eighteen years maximum being a kid and being able to be like Peter, and then sixty-five of expectations and being an adult. And that's the maximum. For most people it's about thirteen years being the former and then seventy of the latter. And that just… seems a bit unfair."

"I don't know," Shane shrugged, well aware of what his next statement was going to get him into but not really caring. "I know some people who are taking their time growing up."

Mitchie laughed, rolling her eyes. "You would."

She looked down at the table, her gaze falling onto the chocolate chip pancakes that she'd abandoned, the sight of which prompted her to smile. "I think you might be maturing a little bit though. Day by day, perhaps."

"Oh, yeah?" Shane asked, both his eyebrows raised expectantly.

"You didn't steal any of my pancakes."

Another grin from the boy opposite her, this one accompanied by a nonchalant shrug. "Yeah, well…"

"Oh, my gosh." A voice that neither of the two teens recognised piped up from behind Shane, and the boy closed his eyes in frustration. This was an experience he was very familiar with; he recognised the signs. Mitchie, however, was still in the dark about the whole thing. Not for long though, because the next words they heard explained everything: "It's Shane Grey."

The reactions of the two teens sitting at the table in the diner differed on a large scale. Shane, who had been dealing with situations nearly identical to this one for years now, for whom the novelty of being recognised for being a 'recording artist' had worn off, shut his eyes and groaned. Despite the fact that the way in which he had gotten to know Mitchie was almost a contradiction to this very thought, he knew how this scenario went. One person recognised him, then more people did, then he was bombarded, then he had to leave the diner through the back entrance without getting any of those chocolate chip pancakes that he'd been eyeing up and had hoped to gain through merit. He should've just taken one while he had the chance.

Mitchie, however, who had not been in this situation before and who had never been recognised in any kind of public place by anyone who didn't either go to her school or know her parents, sat up straighter and craned her neck so that she could see over the top of Shane Grey's shoulder. The sight that she was met with made her "aww", and her gaze snapped to meet Shane's (his eyes had snapped open at her cooing noise). "It's a little kid, Shane."

"It could be Katy Perry, Mitchie, and I probably wouldn't be able to bring myself to care all that much," he hissed in reply, leaning across the table as far as he could go without knocking the condiments everywhere. "Why can't I be a normal person?"

The brunette rolled her eyes, pushing her chair back and standing up. "Shane, you can't be a normal person because you're not normal. You're famous. You can't be both." Her stance over him was not intended to be towering or intimidating but the boy opposite her was feeling both towered over and intimidated. "What would you do if you walked into a room – a diner or a bar or anything – and you saw Mick Jagger there?"

Shane shrugged, two answers popping into his head simultaneously. On one hand, he'd freak out, want to speak to the man, want to get into his head – or as far into the head of a Rolling Stone as anyone could get – and would barely think twice about disturbing the man's evening. On the other, he'd definitely be worried at the sort of impression he'd give. The thing stopping him wasn't even that he knew how annoying being approached by fans could be. He wouldn't want Mick Jagger to dub him the guy that had no qualms about ruining a good night out. He hoped this wasn't Mitchie's next question in their dare-less game of Truth or Dare; he wouldn't be able to answer that one.

Sensing that perhaps her coercion tactics weren't working flawlessly, Mitchie gave a sigh and shook her head in mock disappointment. If trying to get him to sit in the shoes of the fans wasn't going to work, she would just have to guilt trip him into seeing what the right solution was here. This was a little girl, a little girl who was a fan of Connect 3, and the most exciting thing in her world had just happened to her; she was having breakfast in the same diner as Shane Grey. Conducting a quick conversation, signing a napkin with a flourish, none of it was difficult and it was going to make this kid's year.

Mitchie covered the few steps between her seat and the young girl. Up close, Mitchie could see that the kid was probably about eight or nine, with her blonde hair pulled up into a high ponytail, her jeans and Hollister hoodie showing that she was hardly an individualist. The girl looked positively terrified at the circumstances she'd found herself in, but there was an excitement behind her eyes – presumably what had given her the courage to make her presence known in the first place.

"Hey," Mitchie said, crouching down to the eight-year-old's eye level. "What's your name?"

"Delaney."

"That's a really nice name. I've always liked that name. So, Delaney, are you a fan of Connect 3?"

The girl nodded, her gaze flicking between Mitchie and Shane rapidly. Shane wasn't sure whether she was just torn between watching the girl who was speaking to her and him, the teenage rockstar, or whether she was more astute than that and was trying to work out what was going on. Anyone older – Jessie the waitress being the case in point – would assume that this was some sort of date, that he and Mitchie were more involved than they actually were. He didn't know whether eight-year-olds picked up on that sort of thing.

That thought was pushed to the back of his mind, however, when he let himself focus on the actual scene in front of him. There was something to be admired about Mitchie's handling of the situation, Shane couldn't help but think. He had always gotten mad at fans who had approached him when he was trying to be normal, but here was Mitchie, a normal person, showing him that it just wasn't worth getting mad over.

Why couldn't he just be normal? Well, because he wasn't normal. He was famous.

Upon seeing Delaney's nod, Mitchie stood up beckoning the other waiter in the restaurant. People were watching the scene now, there was no denying that, and the whispers were already charging through the groups of people gathered in the diner.

"Excuse me? Do you have a pen we could borrow?"

The waiter handed over a pen, sliding it out from behind his ear and planting it in Mitchie's palm. As soon as she had that in hand, she spun on her heels and stuck it out for Shane to take.

Shane hesitated, prompting another sigh from the brunette girl.

"Shane." Mitchie didn't seem fazed by the people watching and whispering around the room. "Shane. Sign the napkin for her. Look. You're Shane Grey. This is what is expected of you. Sure, people think you're a jerk and that you're this egotistical jackass, but that isn't you. I know that isn't you. And you claim to want to change it. But look around, Shane. All of these people have just witnessed you not wanting to do something as simple as sign an autograph for a little girl. You want people to think you've changed like I know you have? Sign it. Take a picture. Smile a little. You're Shane Grey; enjoy it."

Nobody spoke for a few moments – even the whispers died on tongues – and Shane just stared at the ballpoint pen that stuck upright from between Mitchie's fingers. His thoughts didn't possess much coherency during the few seconds of silence, in fact all that he could really compute was the knowledge that he really did have to take that pen and sign an autograph for Delaney, and pose for a picture too.

It was that one notion that had him standing up and swiping the pen from his friend, picking up a napkin from the table in between his forefinger and thumb, and kneeling in front of the little girl who had disrupted his breakfast and gave the all new Shane Grey (though it wasn't really all new, just reverted back to) his first public appearance.

"Hey," he said, swallowing hard but trying to keep it inaudible. "What's up?"

Delaney's voice was strangely high pitched as she replied, a semblance of a smile beginning to creep it's way across her face. "Not much."

"You want a picture?" he asked, signing his name quickly.

The hesitation was enough to wrap a fist around his heart. She was reluctant to say yes, for a reason that seemed obvious, even if she hadn't said it exactly. He didn't like that. Sure, he'd known that he daunted some people, but most of the people he came across on a daily basis were either suck-ups or gave as good as they got. He didn't want to be intimidating eight-year-olds. That wasn't a good thing.

"Is your mom or dad around? We'll get them to take a picture." Shane asked quickly, intercepting the hesitation and bringing a smile to the faces of both Mitchie and Delaney.

A woman from a booth a few feet away sprung up, her iPhone already in her hand, the screen already displaying the camera application, all ready to capture a moment that was pivotal for both Delaney and Shane, though for very different reasons.

"Say cheese!" The woman said, a grin on her face. Delaney's beam matched it perfectly, the family genes rearing their head. Shane's smile came easily, somewhere between the official smile that he had perfected in press photos and the crooked grin that settled on his face when he was conversing with Mitchie.

Two camera clicks sounded in unison, bringing a slight frown to Shane's face. When he turned to find the source of the sound he hadn't been expecting, he saw Mitchie pocketing her phone, picking up her fork to take another bite out of her pancakes.

"What are you doing?"

"Just eating my breakfast."

Shane rolled his eyes, electing to let it drop – for now, at least. Dragging his attention back to the fan standing next to him, he was taken aback when the girl threw her arms around his neck and hugged him.

"Thank you, Shane."

It threw him for a loop. Not just the hugging, everything. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt like this after a fan encounter, the last time someone had thanked him with such sincerity, the last time someone had touched his emotions with just one hug. And even though he knew that it was Delaney who had actually done those things – been the fan, uttered the thank you, forged ahead with the hug – he knew that it had all really come from Mitchie. Mitchie had been the one to get him to do this. Mitchie had been the one to throw the changes into motion.

By the time he had composed himself, shaking these thoughts to the back of his mind to be dealt with much later, Delaney had bounded back to her mother to examine the picture, excitement flooding her eyes as she looked at it.

"No… no problem," he said, standing up to his full height.

The girl threw one more smile in his direction as her mother guided her back to the booth, and as soon as she slid in began babbling in delight. Shane watched her for a few seconds before turning his attention back to Mitchie, surprised to see her pulling some dollar bills out of her pocket.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

Mitchie glanced up, meeting his gaze and then glancing at a point over his shoulder. "A group of teenage girls just walked in."

"Oh, shit," Shane said, realizing the situation almost immediately. He delved into his own pocket and pulled out a $50, depositing it onto the table and picking up the bills that Mitchie had been in the process of counting. Then, without thinking, he extended his hand for her to take. "I've got it. Come on."

For a moment it looked like Mitchie was ready to protest at him paying, but she decided against it quite quickly. The girls who had walked in were chattering amongst themselves, having paid no attention to their surroundings, but she was fairly certain that they'd be noticed soon. There was no time to argue about chivalry versus feminism, no time to ponder over whether accepting the tab meant that this was the date. She didn't even think she had time to debate over whether to take his hand or not – and so she took it.

He pulled her out of the restaurant quickly. As the door swung shut behind her he could have sworn he heard an excited squeal, but neither Shane nor Mitchie slowed down enough to see if anybody followed them.

* * *

><p>It was weird, Mitchie thought as she stood in the wings of the concert hall in Rhode Island watching the same show that she had seen only a few nights previously.<p>

Shane was renowned for being a jerk; that was his reputation and he did very little to put paid to those preconceptions. But the Shane that Mitchie was getting to know – and she had been getting to know him for a very short period of time – was someone different from that. Deep down he wanted to be known as something else, and deep down he _was _something else; he was a good guy, funny, interesting, kind. He may not be advertising himself as that guy, but he was hardly opaque about it. If Mitchie, having known him for five days, could see that he wasn't a jerk, how come other people hadn't been able to work it out?

She lifted her gaze from where it had been staring at the worn wood floor of the stage to follow Shane as he sung one of the songs he had been given to sing. If Mitchie, during one concert, could have seen how much the three band members resented their 'act', then how come other people hadn't been able to see it too?

* * *

><p>"Thank you, Rhode Island!" Shane cried, as the final song came to a drum-crashing crescendo.<p>

The screams were deafening. The girls in the front row – and every other row, at that – were carbon copies of each other. The show had been the same, just as dissatisfying, just as monotonous, just as ritualistic as all the others. He'd been singing the songs he didn't want to sing, hearing the lyrics that he hadn't written chanted back at him, seeing the screaming fans who didn't like him for himself at all.

But, as the lights went down and he made his escape to the sanctuary of the backstage, he caught – and held – the gaze of the one thing that had made this show different, different and better, and smiled.

Mitchie smiled back at him.


	13. Only The Strong Survive

**Title:** _Life Is Life_

**Summary: **_Once upon a time there was a fanfic called Believe In Me. This is the revamped version.__ "Left his house at midnight, resolute and young, in search of something greater than the person he'd become." __AU Smitchie._

**Author's Note: **_So I've been thinking for the past few days (and that might be a warning; I probably shouldn't be allowed to think about one thing for so long) about changing this story even more than I already have. I don't know if I will – there are pros and cons to the idea that's been swirling around in my head and I suppose I'll end up listing them and seeing which comes out on top – but I suppose I just wanted to bring it up, let you know what might be coming. Some of you might be able to guess. It's a long way away from this point though, so I'll forge ahead with Chapter 13. Sorry it took so long - the last part especially was very difficult to write. I also haven't edited it, so if anyone spots any mistakes I'd love it if you could point them out so I can fix them!  
><em>

**Disclaimer: **_Don't own._

**Music:** _Only The Strong Survive – McFly_

**Got to keep on running**

**Stay on the attack**

**'Cause the day you quit's**

**The day you wish you had it back**

**They tell me that only the strong survive**

The life of a member of a band is expected to be something of a glamorous affair. When Mitchie had dreamed about it, often during a very boring History or Science lesson (those were the subjects she detested the most), it had been busy and exciting and _fun. _Now that Mitchie was actually experiencing it, however, she was forced to concede that it was almost anything but for the majority of the time. She had woken up in a bed the next morning, one which was thankfully Shane-free (although it smelled like him, which was more distracting than she'd have ever admitted), and then spent the day watching another sound check, playing card games with the other members of Connect 3, and had ended up standing exactly where she'd been the night before; watching the second show in Rhode Island.

Or… almost. She'd be watching the second show in Rhode Island in approximately half-an-hour, which was when it was due to begin.

Mitchie hung in the background as the boys geared up for the performance – they had vocal exercises to carry out and masks of happiness on their face to get perfect. While they went about their less-than-glamorous lifestyles, she sat in an armchair in their shared dressing room (which was ineptly named, as none of the members of Connect 3 actually opted to get dressed in there), ignoring the odd looks she was getting from their manager and avoiding the thoughts that kept trying to force their way into the forefront of her mind. Sitting there she felt almost invisible to them all; almost like she was the fly on the wall that so many others said they wished they could be.

Well, she felt invisible to them all until her phone rang, cutting into the vocal exercises and dragging the attention of the people in the room to her and her Twist and Shout ringtone.

She blushed slightly as she scrambled to answer it, managing to note that it was Caitlin before she hit the accept call button. "Hey, Cait."

The attention of Nate and Jason moved back to their pre-show routine. Shane's gaze remained unwaveringly on her.

"I have a bone to pick with you, Torres," Caitlin greeted, disregarding the universally accepted 'hello' and going for something a little different. "You said you'd call me yesterday. Did you call me yesterday?"

"I meant to – "

"Because while you're off having this wild rockstar lifestyle fantasy, I'm stuck here in Cohasset, Mitchie. I'm _living _through _you, _while I _cover _for _you_."

"I know – "

"And it's not like I have to be here, Mitchie; I could go and tell your parents right now if I wanted to. But I don't want to and do you know why?"

"Caitl – "

"Do_. _You. Know. Why?"

Mitchie sighed; there was no reasoning with her best friend when she was in such a mood. The only thing she could do was to wait out the ranting and see if anything useful was to come of the conversation. Usually, nothing useful did come of the conversation. That was that.

Clearly, an answer wasn't what Caitlin Gellar was looking for. Caitlin Gellar just wanted an ear to rant at, so proven by the fact that the millisecond pause that Mitchie gave was enough to prompt her into speaking even more enthusiastically.

"Because I'm a good friend, that's why. Because I love you. Because I'm choosing to believe that you not getting in touch with me yesterday was a one-time thing and I won't have to deal with such shenanigans again."

"Did you just – "

"Yes, Mitchie. I did just use the word shenanigans."

"Shenanigans."

"It's a good word."

"It is; I was mentioning it as a kind of congratulations on using it."

"Why, thank you. So what kept you so busy that you couldn't call me yesterday? What _shenanigans _were you up to?"

"I don't think it works a second time."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"Don't you change the subject on me."

"There isn't really much to say on the one you chose."

"Are you with them? Right now? Do you not want to gush about how awesome it is because you're in a room with them?"

"That's the most ridiculous thing – "

"You are then. Okay. Whatever. I understand. I'll get you gushing one day though, Torres. One day." This threat was uttered in Caitlin's best sinister voice, evidently meant to incite the fear of God into Mitchie, but failed on account of the fact that she just couldn't give it long enough to settle. She was off, talking about something else, mere seconds after the ominous words fell on Mitchie's ears. "That wasn't what I called you about though."

"No?"

"Nope. I was mad that you didn't call, but I was planning on seeing how long it took you to call so that I could yell at you even more when it got to Day Eleven or whatever and you rang me up all sheepish and whatnot."

"Why am I friends with you?"

Caitlin laughed at this, and Mitchie could almost see her rolling her eyes at the handset. "I'm _calling _because your mom called. And wants to speak to you. And will only accept the 'she's in the bathroom' excuse so many times."

"How many times have you tried it?"

"Twelve. At least."

"Caitlin."

"She may be getting you a doctor's appointment because she's so concerned about your weak bladder."

"You're joking."

"Of course I am; how were you going to be able to get to the doctors? You can't even call me back when you say you will."

Mitchie sighed, chancing a glance up to see if Shane was still watching her. He was, out of the corner of his eye. She looked away again quickly. "Are you saying I need to call her?"

"I'm saying _we _need to call her. I've got a nifty three-way-call button on my phone that I've been dying to try out."

"Did you – "

"Nifty. Yes."

"You're insane. Did you eat a thesaurus for dinner last night?"

"It doesn't taste all that bad if you add copious amounts of ketchup."

Mitchie laughed, the wave of affection she felt for her best friend in that very second bringing a pang of homesickness to her.

Unaware of the feeling of sadness that had washed over the person on the other end of the phone call, Caitlin spoke again, breaking the pause of about three seconds. "So we'll call her? Say it's on speakerphone?"

"I don't know if I can lie to her again, Caitlin," Mitchie admitted, leaning further back in the chair that she was occupying.

"_Mitchie_." Caitlin's voice was scolding and the expression on her face was something that Mitchie could only imagine as being determined and ferocious at the same time. "It'll be easier, if anything. You're not lying to her face. You're lying to her ear. And need I remind you that it's the only way this plan is ever going to work?"

Groaning, Mitchie stood up from her seat and headed for the door, deciding that it would be much better to get this phone call done somewhere with much less noise. "Fine. Just… give me a second."

She didn't notice Shane's gaze following her as she left the room, shutting the door quietly behind her. A little way down the corridor was a small alcove, and it was here that Mitchie sat, sliding down the wall and stretching her legs out in front of her. There was very little background noise – the corridor was fairly well-removed from the auditorium where people would be finding their seats – and all the setting up had been done a few hours ago. This was the limbo-time; everyone was waiting for the show to start with nothing to do until that moment.

"You'll have to do most of the talking, and I'll just chip in and we can pretend it's on speaker, okay?"

"Okay. I'm sitting down, it's quiet… ready as I'll ever be."

Caitlin didn't say a word, but Mitchie knew that she'd be pressing buttons on the touch-screen, bringing up the number that would call her mom. She could recite it, and for a moment she very nearly did, but then she heard the dialling tone and held her breath, both willing her mother to answer and willing her mother to be out at the same time.

"Hello?"

Mitchie exhaled quickly, the sound of the rush of breath meaning that she didn't notice the noise of a door opening a little further along the hallway. "Hi, Mom. How are things?"

"Mitchie! I was beginning to think you'd forgotten all about us."

"Could I ever? No, just been busy with school and homework and stuff. Caitlin made us watch a scary movie last night – "

"Hey!" Caitlin interrupted, shouting as though she'd been burned. "I did not _make _you do a thing. Hi, Mrs. Torres, you're on speaker!"

Connie laughed, and her daughter resisted a sigh of relief at the sound. Laughing usually didn't go hand in hand with suspicion. Laughing meant that she was probably getting away with this. "Hey, Caitlin. I spoke to your mom this morning."

Mitchie froze and hundreds of miles away she imagined (and wasn't far off reality) Caitlin doing the same thing.

"Oh, really?" Caitlin asked, her voice only slightly giving away the fact that as nonchalant as she was sounding, she wasn't entirely nonchalant at all.

"Yes, I thanked her for letting Mitchie stay there while she and your father are away," Connie went on. Mitchie was waiting for the turn in tone, waiting for the moment where she revealed that the situation was totally busted. "She said she was very happy to oblige – said that it made her more confident, if anything, that the house was going to still be standing when they returned!"

"Well, you know Mitchie," Caitlin said, and Mitchie got the distinct impression that she was hiding a 'phew' of relief. "Goody-two-shoes."

Mitchie wanted nothing more than to hang up the phone, than to get this conversation over with, and that wasn't something she usually felt when conversing with her mother. This time, however, guilt was coursing through her veins and she didn't know how much longer she'd be able to keep up the charade. Would she have to call again tomorrow? The day after? She didn't know how much her nerves would be able to take.

"But you guys are doing okay?" Mitchie's mother was still talking, the topic having moved on a little while Mitchie had zoned out to have a mini heart attack. "You're eating well and getting to bed at a normal time? Not staying up all night talking, I hope!"

"No," was a reply from Mitchie, who reckoned she'd been silent for a little bit too long. "No; when we're together for most of the day there's not really all that much left to talk about at midnight."

"Oh, I'd trust you girls to find something," Connie said, the smile on her face evident in her voice. "I have to go, honey, the dinner is almost ready and I don't want it to burn. Love you! Do you want to speak to your father?"

This was a rhetorical question, proven by the fact that Mitchie hadn't even had time to answer before her father's deeper voice was booming down the telephone line.

"Mitchie; Caitlin! How are you girls doing?"

The two girls gave their positive responses in unison.

"School going okay?"

Mitchie didn't know who he was directing this question to, but being his daughter she supposed it was probably her. "Yeah, it was fine today."

"That Connect 3 rumour still going around?"

The question was posed perfectly innocently – she had, after all, told her parents that _someone _had met up with the boys when they'd been in Cohasset – but Mitchie still felt her mouth go dry at the very mention of the band.

"No," Mitchie replied, her voice croaking just slightly. She hoped her father would think it was just the phone line. "No, that one died down a little bit. I think someone just made it up, all the excitement of them being in town."

"Probably," Mr. Torres agreed. "Hey, listen, Mitchie, I miss you. Your mom even sets you a place at the table at dinner."

For a moment, the brunette couldn't find the words to reply to him; tears had suddenly sprung up in her eyes and she didn't trust herself to form any sentences because she wasn't sure they'd come out like sentences at all. She was in another town, in another state, in another _world_, trapped in a big web of lies.

"Miss you both too." She eventually choked out her response, willing her best friend to take the reins for her now, at least until she had composed herself again.

Her best friend seemed to read her mind: "I'm taking good care of her though, Mr. T."

"I hope that's not supposed to put my mind at rest, Caitlin."

"Mr _Torres_, what are you _implying_?"

Mitchie laughed lightly, wiping her eyes with the back of her free hand. "It's okay, Dad. Suffice to say, I'm the one doing most of the looking after. She's like a three-year-old."

"I can imagine," chuckled the man on the phone, a slight lull following these words before he continued. "I think that's dinner ready, Mitchie, so I'd better go. You don't have to call us back, we just wanted to check you were doing okay, all still alive, all body parts still accounted for, that sort of thing."

"All my limbs are intact, Dad."

"Though I think I misplaced my big toe down the back of the couch last night," Caitlin chimed in.

Mr Torres laughed, the big hearty guffaw that many associated him with, before he said his goodnights. The phone line was severed only seconds later.

Mitchie knew that her best friend was still on her line – she could hear Caitlin's breathing – but she ignored that for a moment and allowed the loneliness that she'd felt upon hearing her dad put the phone down to fill her up. She'd been so busy getting to know Shane and Nate and Jason, so busy seeing the ins and outs of tour life, so busy traveling through the country, that she hadn't had any contact with her mom and dad. And she felt so guilty about that. They had always been there for her, always been ready to listen and to put a smile back on her face, and here she was, rebelling against them? Lying to them? Lulling them into a false sense of security?

"Mitchie – " Caitlin began, and Mitchie got the awful impression that Caitlin was feeling exactly the way she was.

"Caitlin," she interrupted, her voice harsh and cutting the other girl off entirely. "No offense, but if you're about to say what I think you're about to say, I can't hear it. I need you to be the one convincing me to stay."

"I think you should stay, Mitchie, of course I do. That was just harder than I tho – "

"Can we not, Caitlin? Seriously."

"Okay. Yeah. Sure. Fine. How is it? How are… Connect 3?"

Mitchie smiled slightly, her free arm moving down to pick at a hole in her jeans. "Pretty cool."

"Even Shane?"

There was a pause as Mitchie processed everything that had happened with Shane, none of which Caitlin was privy to. The good-natured arguments about music and movies and TV shows. Falling asleep on the couch together. The girl in the diner. The way he'd sought her out the moment he got off stage yesterday. None of it made sense and yet… none of it was weird, either. It was like second-nature, like something that had always been meant to be.

"Yeah," Mitchie said, eventually. "Yeah."

"Are you – " Caitlin started to ask a question, but she didn't manage to get to the point of it. At that moment one of the stage managers stepped out of the door that led to the stage and called out, loud enough for anyone in the backstage area to hear.

"Five minutes until show-time, guys! Five minutes!"

Mitchie stood up, leaning her back against the wall. "I have to go, Cait. But I promise, I'll call you soon."

The girl who was standing in her bedroom in Cohasset, Massachusetts, was quiet for a few seconds, clearly not enamoured with the situation, clearly wanting to ask the question that was still lingering on her lips. But, it seemed she had no choice in the matter, and it was this realisation that prompted her next words: "If I have to call you again…"

"You won't."

"Holding you to that, Torres."

"Willing to be held to it, Gellar."

"_Fine_. Have fun at the show, I'm insanely jealous."

"It's getting old now."

Caitlin laughed. "Think how Shane Grey feels."

"I prefer not to do that."

Caitlin laughed again. "I commend you on that choice. I'll talk to you later."

"You will," Mitchie promised again. "Bye."

For a few seconds after Mitchie Torres had hung up the phone, she didn't move. She wouldn't be able to bring herself to stand and watch the show while she was feeling so homesick, and so while she stood, staring at the device in her hands, she quashed the melancholic emotion.

When she turned around, the boys of Connect 3 were just leaving the dressing room. Jason gave her a broad grin as he walked past, Nate offered a small wave and Jeff shot a curt nod in her direction, all three of them disappearing to the stage area. Shane was the last to leave the room, and she expected him to duck through the door too. He didn't.

Walking up to her, Shane kept his face passive, not wanting to let on the fact that he'd been listening, the fact that he'd heard it all. He was a little ashamed of it, in fact; what business of his was it to go around listening to Mitchie's phone calls? He'd been unable to help himself, though, and that had been the part that had scared him most. Why had he been unable to help himself? He didn't feel it necessary to listen to the conversations of his other friends. And with that thought came the question he'd been asking himself for days on end: why her? Why Mitchie Torres?

"You coming, Mitch?" he asked, as soon as he got close enough.

She frowned, a crease appearing just above her nose. "Yeah, I'm coming, _Shan_."

Shane laughed, waiting for her to start moving before he did so himself. They walked to the door together, the chanting from the auditorium getting louder the closer they got.

"Caitlin okay?" he asked, as he held the door open for her to walk through.

Mitchie nodded, stopping in the wings. "Yeah. She says have a good show."

Shane grinned, hooking his earpiece in place and preparing to run out into his starting position. Just before he did, he shrugged and spoke, a telling smirk spreading across his face: "I don't know, I feel like it's getting a bit old now."

* * *

><p>The show passed in a blur very much the same as the blurs that had been the other shows; it felt like no time at all before the band were shouting their goodnights and bounding from the stage, grabbing towels to wipe the sweat from their faces.<p>

Shane hadn't made a beeline for Mitchie this time, but had instead pulled Nate in a post-show conversation. It wasn't something Nate was used to – usually Shane stormed away after a performance, often adding profanities into the mix for anyone who dared speak to him – but he seized the opportunity to speak to a civil Shane Grey with both hands. As Mitchie made her way over to them, dodging the guys who were already dissembling the stage, Shane said something that made Nate laugh and for a moment she just stood and watched the boys laugh together. Then Shane caught her eye and excused himself, not waiting for a reply from Nate before he started to saunter over to where she was standing just a few feet in front of him.

"You were listening to my phone call," she accused, as soon as he was close enough to properly hear what she was saying. It didn't matter that an entire concert had happened since the event; she was a little bit annoyed and was going to let that show.

"I don't believe you have any evidence that supports that," Shane retorted, shrugging easily as he spoke and came to a halt right in front of her.

"You practically quoted it to me!"

"Oh, really?"

"Yes! Just before you went on stage you said the exact thing that I said to Caitlin."

"I think that might be something I like to call a coincidence."

"Nu-uh."

"Yuh-huh."

Mitchie folded her arms across her chest and glared. "Was not."

"Was too." Shane challenged easily, mimicking her pose.

"Was not!"

"Was too."

"It was not!"

"It was not!"

"It was to – ugh!"

Shane laughed - and as Mitchie reached out and slapped his arm lightly, he exaggerated a wince. "Ouch."

"You're insufferable," she said, scowling at him.

The boy in front of her merely shrugged at this comment, his expression serving to make her even more annoyed – but at the same time, not annoyed at all.

The rest of the Connect 3 entourage had left the wing area to return back to the hallway where Mitchie had taken her phone call, and this was where Shane and Mitchie walked slowly to as she silently glowered and he audibly laughed. As they reached the throng of people, they heard someone clearing their throat to speak over the conversations that were going on between the groups of people gathered there.

"Right! The band needs to get back to the bus. The instruments need to be accounted for and put on bus B – " Jeff Witcombe ticked off each instruction on his fingers as he announced them, despite the fact that this was the routine that happened every night. Everyone in the room knew it back to front, he was well aware of that fact, but if something went wrong then at least he could absolve all responsibility by citing that he'd gone through it with everyone who needed to know. If something went wrong it would be someone else's job on the line.

Shane tuned out almost as soon as the speech began and for a few seconds he just stood and watched Mitchie, who seemed to be interested in what the manager had to say. He supposed that Mitchie still found all of this fascinating – especially as it hadn't been a part of yesterday's routine, considering they were in the same venue – while he just found it monotonous and dull. It was meant to be exciting, this life. Almost every other band he'd ever loved said that they found touring the best part of their job. Shane had decided that their tours couldn't be anything like this one, not if they loved it so much. Still, even though she was new to this, he couldn't imagine why Mitchie would be so riveted in what Jeff was saying.

The truth was, Mitchie couldn't have cared less about what Jeff was saying. She wasn't listening to what he was saying; she was just appearing to be listening to what he was saying. In reality, she was thinking about everything, just as she had been doing almost constantly since she'd boarded the tour bus outside her house in Cohasset. What was she doing? Why was she doing it? Why her? The questions had been swimming in her mind for five days and she still hadn't come up with a definitive answer to any of them. She wasn't entirely sure why she was still trying to come up with a definitive answer, because it seemed like it was going to be impossible to get such a thing.

Especially with Shane staring at her the way he was at that moment.

Mitchie turned to look at him quickly, taking him by surprise, whispering her question: "What?"

"Nothing." Shane asked after a pause in which he'd scrambled to come up with something to say. Clearly, he hadn't come up with anything of worth.

The brunette frowned, a crease appearing between her eyebrows. "You were staring."

"I was not," Shane hissed back, prompting Mitchie to roll her eyes.

"I'm not starting that again."

" – I want us all out of here by 11:30, maximum. If we go past midnight, it costs me extra. Thieving bast – "

"I thought you had something on your face," Shane whispered after a short pause.

Just as Mitchie asked the obvious question – "What?" – Shane continued speaking, as though he'd meant to carry on all along – "Your nose."

(As a result, the conversation sounded very much like this: "I thought you had something on your face." "What?" "Your nose." and that is what prompted Mitchie's subsequent reaction.)

"_Right_." Mitchie couldn't help but smile as she elongated the vowel in the word, narrowing her eyes slightly. "Have you looked in the mirror lately? Because I hate to break it to you, but you've got yourself a nose too."

A flustered Shane Grey was a rare occasion indeed, but Mitchie got to witness it first-hand at her words; he shook his head vehemently and stuttered for a second or two before the words fell out coherently. "Wh – no – Mit – " He sighed. "You know that's not what I – you started speaking before I'd fini – oh, whatever."

Jeff finished his speech at this, so the laugh that Mitchie gave was drowned out in the sudden sound of conversation starting up between the band and the roadies and the bus drivers again. The two teenagers began walking towards the exit, back to the bus as per their instructions, and Nate and Jason weren't far behind.

"Was that victory for Mitchie?" Mitchie asked, nudging Shane with her elbow as they fell into step with one another.

"Are you speaking about yourself in third person?" Shane avoided the question, cocking an eyebrow as he glanced at her.

"I don't think that was an answer."

"I don't think it counts as a question."

"Of course it counts as a question; it's a question."

"I think you'll find – " Shane reached the door and pushed it open, his gaze still on the brunette by his side. "That it – "

A bright flash went off – causing their eyes to snap away from each other and to the scene before them – and that flash brought a tide of other flashes with it. Accompanying the many clicks of cameras was yells of the paparazzi, the same kind of people who had been waiting outside the bus on the morning that Mitchie had woken up there, and Shane felt an overwhelming urge to break the noses of every single person crowding.

As soon as he'd worked out what was going on, Shane had jumped in front of Mitchie – hiding her from view but facing her at the same time, hoping to reassure her with his expression that this was all going to be fine. He doubted he'd succeeded in that endeavour, mostly because he had no idea if this was going to be fine. There had definitely been pictures taken of Mitchie, and those pictures were bound to end up on the Internet by tomorrow morning. Mitchie had lied to her parents; what if they saw a picture? What if the press worked out where she lived? What if they called her house and told her mom and dad where she was?

Nate and Jason ran up behind them, Jeff hot on their tails.

"What the fuck are you people doing here?" The manager yelled, and Shane had never appreciated the man more than he did in that moment. "I call the press conferences around here! This is disgusting!"

Disgusting it may have been, but the photographers and reporters had no shame. This was their job, it was what they were paid to do, it was how they put food on their tables at home. They couldn't feel guilty about any of this, so it was not surprising at all when nobody even flinched at the words of Jeff Witcombe. They couldn't quote him; after all, he wasn't the celebrity. No, they wanted to hear from Shane. They wanted to hear from the mystery Mitchie Torres.

"Who's your friend, Shane?"

"Are you two dating?"

"She's the girl you were pictured with in Massachusetts, right Shane?"

Shane looked down at the girl he was still shielding and was momentarily surprised to see that she was staring right back up at him; their eyes had locked in an instant. "We're going to have to walk through them, Mitch."

"I know," she muttered, inhaling sharply after she spoke. "This is crazy."

Shane was quiet for a few seconds, at a loss of how to reply, before he settled on: "I know." Then he nodded to the watching Nate and Jason and, without thinking, grabbed Mitchie's hand. Jason began to steer his way through the crowd, forging a path for them to go through. Shane followed, his hand holding tight to Mitchie's hand, keeping her as close to him as was possible. She followed him, pressing against his arm as they walked, keeping her head down. Nate went after her, also sticking close (though not as close as Shane; he had a feeling he would kill him if he got too near) so as to ensure nobody could pull her away from them.

"Are you Mitchie Torres?"

"How old are you?"

"Are you dating Shane?"

"Are you on tour with them?"

"Are you sharing a bed on the tour bus?"

The calls came from all around them, mostly blending into one inaudible noise, but every so often a specific question would be shouted loud enough for Mitchie to distinguish. She just wanted to answer them, to get them to leave her alone, but Shane was pulling her along at a pretty quick speed and there was no time to even pause to catch her breath. No time, that is, until one particularly ruthless member of the crowd pushed his way out in front of them, severing the link that had been Shane and Mitchie's hands. The man easily blocked Shane's attempts to dodge around him, all while focusing a lecherous grin on the teenage girl in front of him.

"Let her past," Shane demanded, reaching out in some sort of crazy hope that he could catch her and pull her to safety.

"All in good time," the man said, his gaze still on Mitchie. "First things first though, sweetheart, how about you tell me your name? Are you Mitchie Torres?"

"Fucking let her past!" Shane cried again, and Mitchie could see that every ounce of his mental strength was being focussed into not punching the guy into next week. She was about to answer the question, if only to appease the man in front of her, if only to stand a chance of getting past him with relatively little harm done, but the boy behind her acted first.

Nate put his hands on Mitchie's shoulders, his glare bordering on murderous, but the sleazy reporter didn't even flinch – in fact, it made his smirk a little deeper.

"As far as you, and all of you other bottom-dwellers are concerned, she's Rumpelstiltskin. Get lost." Nate spoke, his voice low and his tone level. He wasn't the vocal one of the group, that title was easily awarded to Shane, but if anything that worked in his favour. When he actually did take an opportunity to make some waves, people got very interested. People listened to what he had to say.

Well… they listened to what he had to say for a short minute, and then they went back to doing what they did best. Digging.

"Rumpelstiltskin gave the lady three guesses, did he not? And he answered truthfully to each one of them. I only have one guess, love, but you still haven't answered me. Hardly fair, is it?"

Shane's growl was almost animalistic, and Mitchie snapped her gaze away from the reporter and onto him, holding his eyes to hers and speaking directly to him.

"Shane, you break another person's nose and I swear, I'll never speak to you again."

"He has to fucki – "

"Shane, you say fuck one more time and I swear, I'll never speak to you again."

"I'm not just going to stand here – "

"_Shane_, you say one more word and I sw – "

"Never speak to me again. Got it." The dark-haired boy muttered these last words, audible enough for him to be heard by Mitchie, audible enough to tell her that he was less than pleased but that – for now at least – he was going to co-operate.

The confidence that had swelled up in Mitchie from the moment that Shane reacted the way he did – from the moment that he growled, really – was like nothing she had ever felt before. All she could think about was the moment that Shane had broken the nose of Matt Baker from Hot Tunes, all to ensure that she could get to safety, and she knew two things for certain. One: she couldn't let him do something like that again. Violence was never the answer, and he might not be so lucky with assault charges this time around. Two: this time she didn't need him. She didn't need him. The last time hadn't worked in the long-run, had it? Someone still saw her, someone still leaked her name. It didn't really matter whether she confirmed who she was or not, because these reporters would just print her name in their papers anyway. She didn't need him to punch someone, because the truth was she might as well just deliver a metaphorical punch herself by doing what the paparazzi least expected. She might as well just answer the question.

It was with that thought running through her mind that she turned back to the leering man, tilting her chin up and hoping that her eyes were full of the steely confidence that the rest of her was.

"Yes."

The man looked surprised, though he composed himself rather quickly. "What?"

"You asked a question. The answer is yes."

"I asked a few questions, sweetheart. You're going to have to be a bit more specific."

Mitchie felt the inkling of a smile creep over her face, and she turned her head to look at Nate, who was still standing close behind her. "Oh. He did ask a few questions, didn't he?"

Out of the three Connect 3 band members, Nate Daniels was the smart one. He was the one who came up with the plans and he was also the one who thought about the consequences. He was unhappy in the career path he was following, but he knew better than to go the route that Shane was going because he knew that when things did change he didn't want a reputation that would take an age to rid himself of. He was intelligent, he knew what he was doing. Nate was the smart one. And because he was the smart one, he picked up on Mitchie's point almost instantly. The slight turn of his lips told him that much, and he picked up the ball that Mitchie had dropped in his court immediately.

"I believe he did, you know. First of all, I think he asked if you would tell him your name. And then he asked if you were Mitchie Torres," Nate said, the smile growing wider as he spoke. He would win no acting awards, but that barely even mattered at this point. "_But_ – " and on this word he paused, cocking an eyebrow in the direction of the very bemused looking reporter, who was becoming less effective at blocking their path by the second. "I think he also asked whether Rumpelstiltskin gave three guesses, and whether it was fair that he only had one. There were also some questions thrown from other people, if we're counting them?"

Mitchie turned back to look at the guy in front of her; his arms had dropped by his sides, his nose was wrinkled in confusion. The upper hand that he'd had - Mitchie's naivety, Mitchie's fragility when it came to dealing with situations like this – had evaporated, and now he was just looking at a girl who would keep playing these sorts of games all night.

"Yeah, I think we can count them," she said, tilting her head to one side as she fixed her stare on the sleazy reporter.

"In that case, there was also the 'are you on tour with them', the 'are you dating Shane' and, my personal favourite, 'are you sharing a bed with him on tour', all of which could be possibilities."

"So they could." Mitchie took a step forwards, a step nearer Shane, and felt a last surge of confidence make its way to the surface. "But, see, I don't really feel like being more specific. So in true Rumpelstiltskin spirit, how about you have a guess as to which question I was answering?"

The blonde man looked stunned, opening and closing his mouth a few times as he attempted to come up with _anything _to say. He wanted to sound remotely clever, he wanted to sound a little bit suave and unfazed, but he couldn't even summon words that would make him sound stupid.

"No? _Shame_." The sarcasm dripped from her voice, and confident Mitchie seized the opportunity to slip around the human blockade.

Someone's fingers threaded through her own and Mitchie didn't need to catch his eye to know that it was Shane. She didn't particularly _want _to catch his eye, mostly because the confident feeling she'd had just a millisecond previously was being replaced; a feeling of utter mortification was bubbling up from the pit of her stomach and she didn't want Shane's face worsening that.

He held her hand – though she was fairly certain it wasn't in an affectionate way but rather in a I'm-pulling-you-through-the-crowd-because-we-need-out-of-here-now way – up until the moment she had ascended the stairs of the bus. He'd waited at the bottom, his hand locked in hers to steady her on the steps.

She hadn't looked at him up until the moment she was at the top when she turned back around to say… what? Thank you? That was crazy? You can speak now? Whatever it was that she was planning on saying, and truth be told she wasn't entirely sure, the words never left the tip of her tongue when she caught sight of the expression on his face.

Shane had watched the entire scene in awe. He wasn't the smart one in the band – though he wasn't the stupid one either – and so had had no idea what on earth Mitchie was getting at with her initial comments. The pieces had fallen into place, however, and there could remain no doubt in his mind that he was impressed. Very impressed.

He was also scared. He'd never felt like this around anyone before, and it was getting to the point where he couldn't ignore it anymore. Mitchie had been on tour with them for two days – in his life for only five – and yet he was falling into a hole that was deeper than he could have ever imagined. Was there any way he'd be able to get through this without completely ruining things, for him, for her, for _them_ (if there was any possibility of there being a _them_)?

If Mitchie hadn't been scared before she saw Shane's expression, then she was after it. She could tell he was impressed, she could tell he was proud, but she could also tell he was very handsome – something she hadn't thought in years – and she could see hints of caring. He cared about her. And of course he cared about her; he would have to at least care about her to do all of this for her, to give up his bed, to invite her on tour, to buy her breakfast and let her into thoughts that he hadn't shared with anyone else. This was the first time she'd really thought about it though, the first time she'd taken note of the evidence right in front of her face.

She cared about him too. She hoped that showed in _her_ expression.


End file.
